


Heaven is Comfort, but It's Still Not Living

by CallMeDelphine



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Damsel (Morty) in Distress, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hand over mouth to stifle scream, Kidnapping, Lots of Angst, M/M, Manipulation, Painful Sex, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-04-22 05:51:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14302188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeDelphine/pseuds/CallMeDelphine
Summary: Morty wakes up in a strange room, chained to the wall, and realizes he's been kidnapped by someone he knows.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Back in December I made a list of fic ideas but never got around to writing them until now lol, so here we are! I didn't tag this as underage because I left Morty's age ambiguous. In my head he's over 18 but I never specify it, so I just left the tag out. 
> 
> Title is from the Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own RaM or any of the characters

It was the beginning of Morty's new life.

Only, he didn’t know it yet.

He lay blindfolded in the corner of a room, his wrists held by chains that connected to eyelets in the wall. He tried pulling off the blindfold but the chains were too short to reach his face.

Morty listened to the rapid fire drumbeat of his heart and tried to stay calm.

What was the last thing he remembered? His mind felt fuzzy, but he was pretty sure he had been in his room, working on his homework. Then, somehow, he opened his eyes and he was here.

He thought back to the previous adventures with Rick where he’d been confident that he was going to die but had somehow, miraculously, made it out alive. He just had to think rationally, and he’d be okay.

Morty pushed himself up into a sitting position and took inventory of his surroundings. He sat still and tried to listen for any noise.

He could barely make out some muffled voices far away, but he had no idea what they were saying. Morty pressed his palms against the floor and felt the cool hardwood beneath his fingertips. He did the same to the wall and felt plaster. There was a thin mattress underneath him and a blanket nearby. He tried to reach out further but the chains stopped him short. Morty rubbed his head against the wall to dislodge the blindfold but that didn’t work; it was tied too tightly.

With his immediate escape options unsuccessful, he tried not to feel hopeless, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. He was effectively trapped here, waiting for whoever did this to come back. Morty wondered where Rick was, if maybe he was here with him.

“Rick?” he called out. No answer. Maybe they were on an adventure gone wrong. This wouldn’t be the first time that Morty woke up with temporary memory loss.  He’d never been tied up like this before, though.

Morty’s thoughts were cut short when he heard someone jiggle the doorknob. Someone walked in and shut the door behind them. Morty’s ears perked, desperately trying to gather information about who this could be.

“You’re finally awake,” the person said in a gruff voice.

It was a man’s voice, but that wasn’t the surprising part. It was the fact that Morty knew who it was.

“Rick? What the fuck! Where are we? Why am I tied up?” he shouted, struggling violently against the chains.

“Calm the fuck down M-Morty, or I’m gonna have to use this,” Rick said, then paused. “Well, actually, you can’t see anything, but I’m holding a tranquilizer gun. So _behave_.”

“I-I don’t understand. What’s going on? Where are we?” Morty asked again.

“The ‘where’ doesn’t matter. I’m g-gonna lay down some ground rules and you’re gonna listen if you—if you want things to go easy. Ok?”

A terrifying realization suddenly dawned on Morty.

“You’re not my original Rick,” he said slowly. He heard Rick snort with exasperation.

“No, dipshit, I’m not. Surprised it took y-you this long to wrap y-your little mind around it.”

Fuck, this wasn’t good. Morty could be anywhere. He could be on a completely different planet or in a different dimension for all he knew. Maybe this Rick had even killed his Rick and left his body to rot in some other galaxy. He paled at the thought.

“Where is my Rick? What did you do?”

“Stop worrying so much kid, it’s—you’re killing my mood.”

Morty blanched. There he was, trussed like a pig, and suddenly Rick’s bad mood was _his_ fault?

“Fuck you, Rick! D-Don’t you have your own Morty? Let me go!”

Another unsettling thought weaseled its way into the back of Morty’s mind. What if this Rick _didn’t_ have a Morty anymore? Images of torture and experimentation flooded his brain and suddenly Morty felt sick. What if this Rick was planning to run illegal tests on him or something and then kill him when he was done?

“If you keep being a little bitch I’m gonna use the gun,” Rick said, irritation clearly seeping into his voice. Morty quickly weighed the pros and cons. He didn’t want to be awake in this terrifying reality, but what if he kept misbehaving and he woke up without legs or arms or something? No, it was better to play it safe. Morty forced himself to stay still and nodded. He listened for what Rick would do next but didn’t hear anything. Was he just standing there in front of him? What was he planning? The unease grew in the pit of Morty’s stomach as he waited.

He felt Rick stroke his cheek and he immediately jerked from the touch.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Come on M-Morty, I know you’re not that fucking dense. W-Why do you think you’re even here? Just shut up and try to enjoy it.”

_Why do you think you’re even here?_

Morty’s blood ran cold and he started shaking his head in denial. He heard a mechanical beep and felt the chains around his wrists retract into the wall, pulling his arms with it. They were suspended above his head and, just like that, Morty could barely move. Rick pushed him back against the bed and straddled his waist.

“Rick, p-please wait, I don’t want this,” Morty pleaded, fear coloring his voice. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to feel Rick’s heavy weight crushing his lungs and holding him down. He didn’t understand why he was here, why him specifically. How did this Rick even know about him? Morty felt claustrophobic, as if the walls in the room were suddenly closing in on him, getting smaller and smaller.

“Morty, seriously, shut the fuck up.”

With those six words, Rick sealed Morty’s fate.

But no, Morty couldn’t just give in without a fight. There had to be something he could do. He felt the cold blade of a knife against his bare skin when Rick dragged it through his shirt, cutting it away. He did the same with the rest of his clothes and Morty desperately opened his eyes under the blindfold, struggling to see anything through it that might be of use to him. But it was too thick, and he was just met with a wall of black.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

This wasn’t supposed to be how this happened. He was supposed to be with Jessica, watching some stupid cheesy movie on the couch or at her house. Not here, not like this. Not with his back against a dirty mattress and an old man holding his thighs apart with bruising force.

This was too quiet, it was too easy. In the movies they always put up a fight, they always scratched and clawed and bit and _fought_ , they didn’t just lie back and take it like Morty was doing. Why was he so pathetic? He couldn’t just accept this. He had to do _some_ thing.

“Rick, just-just wait a sec, please? Just hold on,” Morty begged.

He felt the barrel of the tranquilizer gun against his neck and he stilled.

“Wait! I want to be awake, please don’t,” he cried. Morty hated himself for crying.

“Then behave!” Rick barked. Morty heard the distinct sound of a zipper being pulled down and knew it was now or never. He waited until he heard Rick put down the gun before he aimed a hard kick at Rick’s groin.

“Fuck! Fuck you, you little asshole—"

He wrapped his hands around Morty’s neck and Morty kicked out violently. He didn’t know what he was hitting but judging from Rick’s grunts it really hurt. Rick’s hands clamped down harder and Morty felt lightheaded, but he tried to fight it. He had to fight it. His lungs burned and his eyes felt like they were going to pop right out of his head. But he couldn’t give up, not before putting up a real fight.

With the last of his strength, Morty slammed both feet against Rick’s chest and shoved with everything he had. It was just barely enough, but Rick’s grip faltered enough for Morty to suck in a desperate breath of air.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Rick panted. Morty felt the bite of the gun and then a heavy black washed over him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometime last night, Rick had loosened the chains enough for Morty to sleep relatively comfortably. 

When Morty woke up, the first thing he noticed was the pain. The second thing was the blood.

He gingerly sat up and examined himself. Everything so sore. He almost couldn’t believe that yesterday had happened. Was he really there, in that room? Maybe he was unconscious or in a coma and just trapped in a bad dream. This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t.

He cried when he felt the blood, still wet, soaking through his shorts. He cried at the full realization of what had happened, and what would continue to happen as long as he was trapped in this room.

He had to fight harder next time, he couldn’t give up so easily.

Morty turned his attention to the chains. They’d been loosened, yes, but it wasn’t enough. The joint at the base of his thumb caught on the edge of the metal and prevented it from slipping off. For a split second, Morty considered breaking his hand to get it to come off, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. He definitely didn’t have the pain tolerance needed for that, and besides, he couldn’t escape with two broken hands anyway.

He tugged at the eyelets that the chains were attached to, but they were firmly welded and wouldn’t budge. The frustration and defeat picked at him, but Morty wasn’t ready to give up, not yet. He owed it to himself to keep trying.

Morty saw a window above his head that was covered with thick metal bars that ran vertically over the glass. Their ends were secured with nails into the wall. Morty tried to twist the nails out, but they were in too deep. The only items in the room were the mattress and blanket and a water bottle. He couldn’t reach the door, which was on the other side of the room, because the chains didn’t extend that far.

After a long time of yanking at the chains and picking at the locks, hoping for some miracle, Morty had to admit defeat. He had nothing to work with. How could he escape with a blanket and a water bottle? It just wasn’t possible right now. He had to bide his time and survive until he found the right moment to escape.

Morty flipped the mattress over to hide the blood, tried to bury his emotions as deep as he could, and waited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Rick came back a few hours later, this time with food and a bucket. He put the food by the bed and held up the bucket.

“This has cleaning stuff in it. Starting tomorrow, you’re gonna clean this room.”

“What?” Morty started. What kind of a dumb request was that? “Why would I do that? I-I don’t plan on staying here, asshole.”

A smirk tugged at the edges of Rick’s lips. “Oh, you’re feisty. I like that.” The words made Morty’s skin crawl. “I don’t care what you plan or don’t plan. Y-You’re here now, so you better just forget all that other stuff you had because you’re never going to see it again. Y-You may have lived in a pig sty at your old place, but I-I don’t want that shit in my house. So either you clean, or I keep fucking you dry until you learn.”

The finality of Rick’s words rang through Morty’s ears. It was easy to believe he’d be stuck here forever. With only a couple feet of walking space because of the chains, it was easy to accept Rick’s words as the truth. Morty’s heart sank when he thought about the prospects of him escaping now, and he hated it. He hated that the door was so close, but that a stupid piece of metal and one person could block him from that freedom.

“What if I have to use the bathroom?” Morty asked, trying to look nonchalant but he was sure the desperation shown in his eyes. Rick laughed, but it was humorless.

“I’ve injected you with a serum that takes care of all that, so y-you can’t pull any tricks, buddy.”

Just like that, Rick left the room and locked the door behind him.

Just like that, Morty’s new life began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the stutters aren't quite right, I've been editing and reediting and I'm still not that happy with the final version but I tried :/
> 
> feel free to leave comments/share your thoughts! I love reading them


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> I edited this chapter in the gap between my classes so excuse any mistakes! I think I caught them all but I've stared at these words for so long that I think I've gone blind lol.

Morty was going crazy cooped up in that room with nothing to do all day but wait.

For hours each day he’d pull on the chains until his palms were rubbed raw, but they refused to budge from the wall. He didn’t know why he bothered with them. It was clear they were never going to come out of the wall but Morty still persisted. Maybe it was just for the sake of having something to do. Maybe it was so that he could convince himself he was trying to escape, rather than sitting on his ass all day like a complacent piece of shit.

With yet another failed attempt, Morty shouted in frustration and threw his water bottle across the room.

He didn’t want to keep staying here. He wanted to go home. Each time Rick visited him, another icy thorn of fear buried itself in Morty’s heart. He was stiff and sore from staying in the same position each day and it was worse every time Rick came.

The unpredictability made things worse. If Morty knew that Rick was going to come every day, or every week, he’d be able to prepare himself, to steel himself. Rick popped in whenever he wanted and it wreaked havoc on Morty’s mental stability. Rick always caught him off guard and Morty hated it.

He tried not to think about it. He tried to fill his head with other things. Nothing worked. Every time Rick opened that door, Morty panicked, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You want these? I never liked blueberry,” Rick said, holding out a plate of pancakes.

“No,” Morty said, hugging his knees to his chest, trying not to flinch every time Rick moved too fast. He was on guard, waiting to see what Rick was going to do this time.

Rick shrugged. “Fine.” He shot a portal into the floor and threw the plate into it.

“Why am I here?” Morty asked, blurting it out before he could talk himself out of it. Trapped in the room with nothing but his thoughts, the question ate at him. Out of all the Mortys in all the dimensions, why was it him who was here?

A smile pulled up a corner of Rick’s mouth. It made him look even more dangerous.

“I saw you and your Rick at Blips and-and Chitz a few months ago. Y-you looked happy so I traced your dimension and followed you.”

He said it so simply, like he was just discussing the weather. Morty had been ready to argue, to rip the truth out of Rick one way or another. He hadn’t accounted for Rick freely telling him, and he definitely hadn’t thought of what he’d say.

Morty opened and closed his mouth, trying to come up with a half-coherent response. What could he say to such an inane reason? Not that any reason could have justified this, but Morty knew his own Rick had enemies and he thought this was related to one of them somehow.

“Th-that’s why? Because I looked happy?” Morty said, hearing the words but not understanding them. There had to be more than that. There had to be something else. If this was for revenge, or for bargaining power, or for ransom, or for anything else, Morty could understand the rationale. He could understand it and maybe think of a way to turn Rick’s logic against him. Even if he couldn’t, he could at least believe that the situation was out of his control. His Rick had enemies, and that was that. Morty couldn’t do anything about that.

But this, this was different. This took his Rick out of the equation entirely. This centered on Morty. It was Morty who looked happy, it was Morty who hadn’t been _Morty_ enough, it was _his fault_ for being on good terms with his Rick.

Rick rolled his eyes. “All the other ones always whined or complained about shit. Y-You were the first one I saw in a while who was actually, y’know, excited to be there. Plus you were the most normal one that day. I never had my own Morty so I wanted a regular one for the ‘full experience,’” he said, using air quotes and laughing as if he wasn’t talking about his thought process for destroying Morty’s life.

Morty wanted to throw up. “That’s-that’s completely…you—” He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Going to Blips and Chitz that day had been an impulse trip. If Rick had never pitched the idea, if Morty had never agreed, then he wouldn’t be here. None of this would be happening if he had just said no.

“It was either you or the-that creepy one with the diamond eyes. You should be flattered.” Rick waved a hand dismissively, turning to leave.

“Flattered?” Morty said, standing up and feeling the anger flush red to his cheeks.

“Yea, _flattered._ I dunno why anyone would want a modified Morty like that. Obviously traditional is-is best.” Rick winked and left the room.

Morty felt dirty. He clenched and unclenched his fists and wished he had never asked anything at all. It felt worse knowing. It felt worse realizing that it could have been anyone, but that it wasn’t anyone, it was him. He paced back and forth in the two by two space that the chains permitted and barely kept his anger contained.

It could have been anyone. If Morty hadn’t gone to Blips and Chitz, if he had been more upset that day, if he hadn’t looked so _happy_ , if he’d gotten into a fight with Rick, if he had said no, then he’d still be at home, or on another adventure with Rick, or even dead in a ditch somewhere, but not here. He wouldn’t be here.

He punched the wall, desperate to release his anger somehow. He slammed his fist against the unyielding plaster over and over until it came away bloodied.

Morty never wanted to see his Rick more than in that moment. His very soul yearned for Rick to come flying through the wall in his space car and take Morty away from this awful place. He held his breath and waited, thinking that maybe if he wished for it badly enough, it would happen, but the wall remained intact and no one came to save him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Yeah, baby, you’re-you’re loving this, aren’t you?” Rick panted, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. Morty stared at a point on the ceiling directly over Rick’s shoulder, not wanting to see the way Rick looked at him. It made him feel cheap and ashamed. Rick wrapped his hands around Morty’s upper arms and squeezed, fingers overlapping, smiling between the thrusts.

“Ow Rick, y-you’re hurting me,” Morty whimpered, his voice betraying his fear.

“You-ah-you love it Morty, just admit it,” he rasped, squeezing harder. Morty shook his head and blinked rapidly to hold back the tears he felt were coming.

“N-no, I don’t. I _don’t_ , Rick.” They accidentally locked eyes and Morty wished there could be something humane in those eyes, something he could appeal to, and he thought maybe there was, but Rick looked away quickly.

Rick groaned and stilled inside of him and Morty’s skin crawled. He hated this part most of all.

He rolled over onto his side as soon as Rick pulled out.

“What happened to your hand?” Rick asked, zipping up his pants. He bent over Morty to get a better look and Morty shied away.

“N-nothing, it was an accident,” he mumbled. Rick grabbed his hand and ran his fingers almost gently over the bruised skin. It was mostly healed now, the angry red cuts fading to yellowed spots, but it was still sensitive and Morty sucked in a sharp breath when Rick touched it.

Rick grabbed his lab coat from the floor and rummaged through the pockets, pulling out a small tube and tossing it onto the bed.

“Rub some of that over it and it’ll go away in an hour,” he said, sliding his arms into the coat and finally leaving.

Morty waited until he was sure Rick was gone before picking up the tube and examining it. It was an unmarked white tube with clear lotion inside and looked innocent enough, but he didn’t dare use it. He didn’t want anything from Rick, nothing at all. He hurled the tube angrily at the door and turned over again, listening to his heart pound in his chest.

A few hours later, Rick came back, this time with a towel in one hand and a blindfold in the other.

“I’m gonna let you take a shower, but if y-you try anything I’m gonna beat you so hard you beg me to kill you, understand?” he warned. Morty didn’t know if Rick would really do that but he didn’t want to find out, hastily nodded his head. He eager to wash the grime off himself. Rick tied the blindfold tight around his eyes before unlocking the wrist cuffs. Morty sighed at how much lighter he felt without them and gently rubbed the irritated skin. Rick grabbed him by the arm and led him out of the room.

Morty followed Rick blindly, stumbling several times as he tried to keep up. They finally made it to the bathroom and Rick pushed him fully-clothed into the tub, leaving the blindfold on. Morty felt around for the shower curtain and drew it shut before reaching back to unknot the blindfold.

“The curtain is see-through, dumbass. D-Don’t touch the blindfold.”

Morty froze. He hadn’t realized Rick was still in the bathroom with him. Suddenly he didn’t want to shower anymore. He let his arms fall and stood awkwardly in the tub, thinking about what he was supposed to do now.

“W-what are you waiting for? You gonna shower with all your clothes on?”

Morty hesitated. Should he? He really didn’t want to shower if Rick was going to watch him the whole time, but he was desperate to wash away the filth of the last few days.

“Y-yes,” he said, every nerve on fire while he waited for the answer.

“Suit yourself,” Rick said, sounding bored.

Morty groped the walls until he touched what felt like a shampoo bottle and then squeezed some out onto his palm. He worked quickly, scared to keep Rick waiting in case he got angry and scared for himself.

He turned off the water and paused again. He was soaking wet, was he supposed to just walk out of the shower like this? Oh man, he really hadn’t thought this through. Anxiety and panic weaved together into one in his stomach and he nervously stood there, trying to find the lowest-conflict option.

“Here,” Rick said, thrusting something into his hands. Morty felt along the fabric to see what it was. A pair of shorts and a towel.

He stripped out of his wet pants, making sure his T-shirt covered his bottom half, and roughly toweled off his legs before pulling on the shorts. He turned around and pulled off his shirt, drying carefully over the bruises.

He realized there was no shirt. Morty wrapped the towel around his upper body and turned back around. He felt along the wall in case it was hanging by the shower but there was nothing there.

“W-where’s the shirt?” he asked.

“You don’t need one,” Rick said simply, taking hold of his arm once more and leading him out of the bathroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s cold in here, I-I want a shirt,” Morty said.

It had been a day since Rick had taken Morty’s clothes. He felt so exposed sitting around in nothing but some thin shorts. He wanted the security of his clothes. Logically, he knew that having a shirt wouldn’t protect him in any way, but he didn’t like feeling so naked.

“It’s not cold, you’re just being dramatic,” Rick said, waving Morty’s protest away. Morty pressed himself into the wall, trying to put distance between himself and Rick.

“Rick, please just let me go. I want to go h-home,” he begged. It seemed that all he did anymore was beg, but it was pointless because it didn't get him anywhere anyway.

Rick pointedly avoided eye contact. “Don’t look at me like that. J-Just pretend you’re home or something, use your imagination. I look exactly like your Rick right?”

“I can’t, it’s not the same—”

“Morty, if I-I wanted to listen to your whining, don’t you think I’d hang around here more often?” Rick sighed, rubbing his face. “Just shut up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The weeks passed and Morty fitfully adjusted to life with this Rick. Rick fed him and let him take showers but that was the extent of his luxuries. Most of his time was spent in the room. Morty began to suspect if that wasn’t a technique in and of itself, depriving him of stimulation so that he’d be more malleable. Even if it was, Morty couldn’t do anything about it. He had no power here. All he could do was wait for Rick to come back.

He was starting to feel empty in a way he couldn’t describe. Morty thought longingly of home. He wondered what his parents were doing, whether Summer was looking for him with Rick, whether Rick was even still alive. He had to believe that Rick was alive because that was the only thing keeping him going. Without that small hope, Morty had nothing.

“Have you lost weight?” Rick asked, ripping Morty out of his thoughts. Rick had been tracing his hands down Morty’s sides, but stopped when he felt Morty’s ribs. Morty shrugged half-heartedly. He hadn’t had much of an appetite lately, so he wouldn’t be surprised if he had gotten thinner.

Rick stopped and lay on his back on the mattress, one arm wrapped around Morty’s shoulder. He still had all his clothes on and Morty twitched anxiously, wondering if Rick was going to try something or if he was going to leave soon.

“Relax, ugh, why are you so tense?” He ran his hand through Morty’s hair, detangling the loose curls that Morty had stopped caring about.

Morty shivered under the touch, disgusted. He wasn’t sure what Rick was trying to do but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like not knowing.

“Just relax,” Rick murmured, moving his hand down to the back of Morty’s neck, rubbing the tight muscles.

Slowly, and fighting every second of it, Morty unraveled. His eyelids felt heavy but he stubbornly refused to sleep. He couldn’t let his guard down in front of Rick.

Rick took advantage of that and pulled Morty closer so that his head was resting on Rick’s chest, then continued stroking his hair. Morty listened to Rick’s steady heartbeat underneath his ear and thought dully how easy it would be to kill him, right there.

With Rick tracing patterns into his scalp, Morty’s eyes drooped closed and he unwillingly fell into a restless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty jerked violently awake. He’d been in the middle of a horrible nightmare.

Ugh, it was so hot, he couldn’t breathe. Why was it so hot? He felt so heavy…

Morty struggled to sit up and realized Rick was wrapped around him, his arm like a vice around Morty’s waist. He heard Rick’s deep, even breaths and knew he was out cold. A tiny shred of hope flared up in his chest at the realization.

If only he could move! This was his chance. He could get the keys from Rick, unlock the cuffs, and portal himself home. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get an opportunity like this again, it was now or never.

Morty slowly felt underneath the blanket for the edge of Rick’s lab coat, but he couldn’t find it. He peeled the blanket back an inch and the hope died as quickly as it had come. Rick wasn’t wearing his coat, it was in a pile by the door, and there was no way Morty would be able to reach it.

Fuck.

Morty let his head fall back against the mattress, tears of frustration pricking the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. He wanted to go to home so badly it left him hollow inside. He’d never wanted anything more.

Rick’s arm tightened unconsciously around him.

Morty bit down on the pillow to keep himself from crying.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! heads up this chapter is kind of graphic/dark. well, graphic in the manipulation sense. 
> 
> sorry ugh i just love writing angst, i guess i'm not so good at fluff and that's why lmfao

It had been three months, at least. It was hard to keep track of time in here, but Morty tried to count the days as best he could. He’d quickly learned that the window was useless; something was strange about it because the clouds in the sky never seemed to change. It was the same sky day in, day out. He didn’t really know what to do with that information but he filed it away as important just in case. All Morty could see outside were trees, which made him think the house was secluded in a forest or something. If there were any neighbors nearby, there was no way Rick wouldn’t have boarded up the window. Or maybe these were alien trees that just looked like Earth trees. Or maybe they were on a different Earth dimension, one where everyone had been wiped out. Morty hoped he was still in his own dimension, but he had no way of knowing. Ultimately, it didn’t really matter.

Even though it was such a small thing compared to everything else, one of the things Morty had struggled most with over the last few months, apart from Rick himself, was not having to use the bathroom. He hated whatever it was that Rick had injected him with; drinking water and never having to use the bathroom at all felt strange and alien to him. He wished it would go away, he hoped it wasn’t a permanent change, but even that, ultimately, didn’t matter.

What mattered was that Rick had gone off-planet for some business. Morty knew this because Rick had left non-perishable food by his bed, which he only did when he disappeared for a couple days. Each time Rick left for work, Morty tried to work up the nerve to find a way out of there, but he talked himself out of it every time. Part of him thought that his Rick would have found him by now, but after months of nothing, Morty began to realize that he had to take matters into his own hands if he wanted to get out of that house.

The window may have been useless for telling him what time of day it was, but right now it was his best bet if he wanted to escape. Since he couldn’t pry the bars off himself, he needed something that could do it for him.

There was nothing in the room that he could weaponize, so sparsely was it stocked. Nothing except the floorboards. Carefully, trying to avoid splinters and cuts lest Rick saw them and got suspicious, Morty pried a loose one up from under the mattress, where the hole would be hidden. It was small and slender, maybe just three inches wide, but it was strong, and it would have to do.

Over the coming hours, Morty furiously sharpened the edge of the floorboard by rubbing it back and forth against the bars on the window. He needed it to be sharp enough so that he could push it under the edge of the bars where they screwed into the wall. It was extremely slow work, but every so often Morty would touch the tip and feel it getting sharper, so he knew it was working. Half his brain tried to talk him out of it while the other half urged him to work faster. Morty didn’t want to be stuck on this strange planet with a static sky and a Rick that hurt him for the rest of his life. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was going to lose himself if he waited around for someone to save him, or if he did nothing at all.

He paused to catch his breath and then started again, this time faster, back and forth, back and forth.

“What are you doing?” he heard from the doorway.

Morty stopped mid-swipe and felt his blood turn to ice. Fuck, he hadn’t heard Rick unlocking the door because he’d been so focused on what he was doing. Like a deer in the headlights, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t throw away the piece of wood in his hand, he couldn’t play it off somehow. He couldn’t even bring himself to turn around and face Rick.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Rick asked again. His voice was dangerously low and calm. Morty knew it was the end. Rick was going to kill him now.

Rick grabbed his arm and threw him violently against the floor. He spotted the wood Morty was holding and ripped it out, throwing it to the other side of the room. The rough edges of the board tore into Morty’s palms and he yelped in pain.

“Where did you get that?”

Adrenaline surged through Morty’s veins and his instincts screamed at him to run, but he couldn’t run.

“ _Where did you get that_?” Rick thundered. Morty flinched at the sudden sound, still unable to meet Rick’s eyes.

Rick grabbed Morty’s chin and wrenched his face up to meet his own. “If you don’t tell me where you got that _right now_ , I’m going to crush your fingers one by one until you do,” he hissed.

“U-under the bed,” Morty squeaked, his voice betraying his fear. Rick shoved his face away and yanked the mattress to the side, revealing the thin sliver of empty space where the floorboard should have been.

“Well Morty,” Rick said, staring at the hole in the floor, his voice back to that eerie calm. “Y-you’ve really done it this time. I thought I could trust you, y’know, after all this time, but I-I see now that you’re still a stupid fucking dipshit with no concept of-of self-preservation. You’re the biggest fucking waste of space I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Then l-let me go,” Morty begged in a small voice. He hadn’t moved from where Rick had pushed him. “Y-you don’t want me, I-I’m not good—"

“No, no,” Rick said. “You need to learn what happens when you disobey me.”

Rick shoved him back until he fell against the bed and then climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.

“W-wait, Rick just hold on, please I—”

Rick leaned forward to clamp one hand over Morty’s mouth while the other yanked his pants down. He used his body weight to hold Morty still and then, before Morty could catch his breath, Rick thrust into him in one jagged motion. Morty screamed against Rick’s hand, white-hot pain leaving him breathless. Rick didn’t give him time to adjust, instead pounding in and out at a punishingly brutal rhythm. Morty thrashed against the body pinning him down but Rick was too strong. He clawed at Rick’s skin but that didn’t do anything other than annoy him. Eventually Rick grabbed both of Morty’s wrists in his free hand and pressed them into the mattress above his head.

Morty lay defeated under Rick’s heavy body, listening to the grunts in his ear, claustrophobia washing over him. It was hot and sweaty and Morty couldn’t breathe with Rick on top of him like that. Their eyes met for a split second again and Morty saw lust and anger and other horrible things, but Rick was the first to break it, tucking his head into the side of Morty’s neck and biting down hard.

Finally, Rick shuddered and pulled out, sitting back on his knees to catch his breath. Morty didn’t move, hands still over his head, legs splayed. He stared at the ceiling, wondering what would happen to him now, a tiny part of him hoping that Rick would just kill him and get it over with. He hated enduring these moments after Rick hurt him like this, these moments when Morty was strangely calm and still because he had to be, or else he’d shatter.

His wrists ached where Rick pinned him down and he could feel new bruises blossoming, no doubt in the shapes of his fingers.

Morty heard a beep and then felt the chains start to retract into the wall. He stirred weakly, confused and scared. They pulled him up off the bed and continued rolling back until he barely stood on tiptoe with his arms spread out on either side of him, pinned flush against the wall. His shoulders instantly protested the way his weight hung from them and he struggled against the chains, but it was no use—he couldn’t move away. Morty stopped fighting and forced himself to stay still, trying not to let the roar of his heartbeat in his ears send him into a panic.

“You’re going to stay like this until I-I’ve decided you’ve learned not to pull shit like this again,” Rick hissed. “Clearly I can’t trust you to-to be responsible while I’m gone.”

Morty immediately regretted ever having the idea to escape. Was Rick really going to leave him tied up like this? He was so weak, there was no way he’d be able to balance this way for five minutes let alone however long Rick planned to leave him there. He’d die if he was left like that, he was sure his heart would give out from the stress.

“No,” Morty breathed. “Rick, p-please! I’m sorry! Please d-don’t leave me like this!”

The lock of the door clicking into place was his only answer.

With Rick gone, the silence in the room was deafening. Morty tried to stay calm but a panic attack hit him with full force anyway, and suddenly he felt like there wasn’t enough air. He took deep breaths but it didn’t feel enough, like his lung capacity had halved in the span of a few seconds.

Morty’s legs shook underneath him and came dangerously close to giving out. His heart thrashed against his ribcage and a terrible anxious heat built up in his stomach. When was Rick coming back?

“Rick, please!” he screamed. His skin was on fire and sweat poured down his body. The ringing in his ears drowned out everything else and left him feeling utterly trapped and alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty didn’t know how many hours had passed, but eventually his legs gave out and all his weight hung from his arms. His shoulders strained painfully, and he tried to alternate between using his legs but he had absolutely no energy. Three weeks could’ve passed, or it could have been a day, Morty had no idea. All he knew was that he needed to sit down so badly, anything to ease the pain. He’d beg at Rick’s feet if Rick let him. He’d apologize two hundred times and plead for forgiveness. How could Morty have been so stupid? He should never have done that, it was so stupid of him to even try. Of course there was no way out, so why even bother? Now he just got himself into a deeper mess by trying. He was so stupid for thinking he could think his way out of this. Morty was nowhere near as smart as Rick, how did he ever think he could outsmart him?

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

Rick was right, Morty was the stupidest piece of shit ever.

He faded in and out of consciousness. His throat was so dry, he desperately wanted water. Just a bit of water, just one drop. Anything, anything.

_I’ll do anything._

_Please._

_So fucking stupid._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty’s arms finally went numb and he lost all feeling on his upper body. That was better. He didn’t have to feel the agonizing pull in his shoulders anymore, at least. His vision blurred. Sometimes, just from sheer exhaustion, he’d manage to fall into a troubled, broken sleep that always ended with him jerking to half-consciousness.

The lack of sleep was starting to play tricks on him. He thought he saw Rick in front of him sometimes, grabbing his face and turning it from side to side to shine a light into his eyes, or maybe he was just hallucinating the whole thing. He didn’t know if he was seeing his old Rick, or this new one, or if they were blurring together into the same thing. All he knew was the bone-deep exhaustion that plagued him.

_Just make it stop. Anything to make it stop._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty registered a sharp pain on his cheek. He opened his bleary eyes and tried to make out what he was seeing. It took him a while to focus.

Rick stood in front of him, tapping his face over and over to get his attention. Morty weakly turned his head to the side, shying away from the sting, but Rick’s hand followed.

“Get up, Morty. Wake up.”

“P-please. Please,” Morty whispered, trying to focus his eyes. He didn’t know what he was begging for, maybe it was for everything, or maybe he just had to say something. All he knew was that he couldn’t let Rick leave without letting him down. “Sor-I’m s-sorry,” he forced out, every small word jostling his arms and sending fresh slingshots of pain through his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said anything. Morty fleetingly wondered again how long he’d been tied like this.

“Shhh, you’re ok,” Rick said, stroking the side of his face. “Tell me what you’re apologizing for.” Morty leaned his head into Rick’s hand, letting him carry the weight of it. He was desperate for something, anything.

“S-stupid, I’m stupid,” he murmured, trying his best not to cry, because he knew that would only hurt more.

“Go on,” Rick crooned, gently pushing Morty’s hair back from his face.

“Shouldn’t have—t-t-tried—”

God, he was _so tired_. He wished Rick would just cut off his arms. Anything to stop the pain. He wished they were numb again, before Rick had come back, before the pins and needles awoke anew in his shoulders. But Morty needed Rick to have come back, he needed Rick to let him down. He was completely dependent on him, and that fact should have sickened Morty, but he was far too desperate to care.

“I’m not so sure you’re sorry. Maybe I-I should leave you here for another week.”

Rick turned to leave and the last of Morty’s resolve crumbled.

“I-I’m sorry, s—d-don’t leave me again! I can’t—I’ll n-never do—” He choked out half-formed words and panicked at the idea of being left there again. Morty started crying, the short ragged breaths wreaking havoc on his shoulders and ribs. “D-Don’t go!” Tears burred his vision and he couldn’t see Rick’s face, couldn’t tell what Rick was thinking. He was afraid his arms would rip out of their sockets and he wanted nothing more than to kneel at Rick’s feet and beg him for forgiveness so that he’d never have to go through this again. He’d do anything to never feel this again. Anything, anything.

He shut his eyes, sure his heart would crumble into dust if he had to see Rick’s rejection for himself, and hung limply from the chains that bound him.

Next thing he knew, he was on the floor, his arms in agonizing pain. He screamed when they fell abruptly to his sides, his muscles stiff and unmoving after being locked for so long in the same position. How was it possible that they hurt even more than before? He sat on his knees, arms hanging uselessly at his sides, and sobbed. Pitifully he crawled towards Rick and leaned his forehead against his Rick’s leg.

“I know I-I shouldn’t have done-done that, Rick, I-I’m sorry—I’m stupid f-for even trying—I—”

Unable to continue, he waited for Rick’s reaction, terrified that it wouldn’t be enough, that he’d go back on the wall.

He felt Rick’s hand on top of his head.

“Shh, al-alright, shhh. Take a deep breath, you’re okay.”

At that, Morty cried harder, so grateful that Rick accepted his pitiful apology, so utterly thankful. He tried to listen to Rick and even out his breathing, but his heart continued pounding in his chest and his breaths were erratic. He heard Rick sigh and kneel down next to him. Morty backed away, afraid he’d be hurt again, but Rick scoot closer and started rubbing his shoulders. Morty quieted under the touch, the pins and needles growing stronger and more painful as the blood worked its way back into his arms.

Finally, when Morty’s sobs calmed into hiccups, Rick led him back to the mattress and tucked him in under the blanket, smoothing his hair back from his face one more time before leaving the room.

Morty saw the loose floorboard lying across the room, still in the same place Rick had thrown it, and he screwed his eyes shut. He didn’t even want to look at it. He wished Rick had taken it away.

Morty didn’t want to be in the same room as something that could cause him so much pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor morty
> 
> also i'm on tumblr! [feel free to hmu!](https://rick-sanchezs-wife.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

Morty coughed facedown into the pillow to disguise the sob bubbling in the back of his throat. Rick pushed him hard between the shoulder blades and Morty’s legs gave out, his chest hitting the mattress. He hated being facedown because it was harder to breath, but ever since that time Rick had caught his eye, he’d started taking him from behind. Morty didn’t resist, though. There was no point. If he made Rick mad again, he’d just go back on the wall. Morty wasn’t sure he could handle that a second time.

He just wished it didn’t hurt so much. Each time, it felt like sandpaper. The dry friction always left him torn and bruised and hurt even more the next time. No, he didn’t want it to hurt, but he didn’t want it to feel good either. Morty didn’t know how to reconcile those thoughts, and they continued to eat at him like poison every time he heard Rick turn the doorknob. Every time he was facedown in that bed, Rick heavy on top of him, another bit of himself chipped away and disappeared. Every time, he felt a little emptier.

Still, he was grateful that Rick wasn’t leaving him tied up to the wall. No matter how terrible Rick was, how disgusting he made Morty feel, he was merciful enough to accept Morty’s apology and not leave him like that again.

Rick pulled out with a grunt and this time Morty didn’t turn to look at him. He couldn’t take seeing Rick standing there, still wet with his blood, casually wiping himself off with a towel like it was the easiest thing in the world. In the beginning, he used to look. He’d look and expect to see guilt in Rick’s eyes, and he even thought he saw it a few times, but he was sure he just imagined it. Even if Rick did feel guilty, he clearly didn’t feel guilty enough to stop.

So this time, Morty looked away. He looked away because he couldn’t stand Rick acting so nonchalant, so uncaring and dry, as if he weren’t taking pieces of Morty’s soul every time he came in the room. Morty wanted something, he didn’t know what, but he needed something. He needed a reaction, he needed something substantial, he needed to know that Rick _felt_ something. Morty _wanted_ Rick to feel guilty. He wanted Rick to look at the caked blood and the bruised skin and wanted him to feel bad for what he’d done. But of course, that was just wishful thinking. Morty knew he didn’t deserve anything, didn’t even deserve to expect anything. The only reason he had been tied up to that wall in the first place was because of his expectations. He had expected to escape, he had expected that he wasn’t going to die in that house.

It was poison expecting anything.

And maybe that was for the best. If he just grit his teeth and bore it, if he didn’t resist or cry, if he did his best to keep Rick happy, then he’d be okay. Rick would make sure he was okay.

“I’m gonna go get some food. Y-you want anything?” Rick asked while he buttoned up his shirt.

The question hung heavily in the air. Morty stiffened, still lying on the bed, and almost believed he had imagined the question. Had Rick heard his thoughts? This seemed too good, too lucky to be true.

It had to be a trick. This was a test, and if Morty failed then Rick would strap him back to that awful wall until Morty’s heart exploded in his chest and he bled out right there.

“Well?” Rick asked, sounding impatient. “Something you’re craving? I dunno, waffles?”

At those words, the image of warm, crispy waffles popped into Morty’s mind, just like his mom would make for him Saturday mornings when he slept in. He closed his eyes, willing the picture to go away. He hadn’t allowed himself to want anything for a while. He couldn’t afford to want anything because he could never have it. Not until he got out of there. And he was never getting out of there, he knew that now. He didn’t even want to try, not anymore, not while the memory of the wall was still fresh behind his eyelids.

Morty shook his head into the pillow and curled up under the blanket.

“Okay, fine,” Rick shrugged before leaving.

Morty turned over in the bed and his eyes trailed over to the corner of the room where he spotted a line of dust against the wall. He crawled off the mattress and clumsily pulled on his shorts. He had to clean that up before Rick came back and saw that he’d been slacking. He didn’t want to get in trouble. Not again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty sat on the mattress, leaning against the wall when he heard Rick come in. His heart rate spiked and he jolted forward, looking nervously up at Rick. Twice in one day? It wasn’t like that never happened, but it was rare, and it usually only happened when Rick was mad.

Was Rick mad? Had Morty angered him by refusing the offer? So it _had_ been a test, and Morty _had_ failed after all. He’d done exactly the thing he’d been trying to avoid. Morty panicked, trying to figure out how he’d handle Rick a second time, when he was still so sore.

Rick held up a plastic bag, dangling by one finger, in front of Morty. Morty didn’t want to know what kind of awful thing was in there. He lowered his eyes to the floor.

“I-I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I figured you were being shy or something,” Rick said. “Plus you haven’t eaten all day, so…” He dropped the bag in front of Morty and left the room.

Morty waited until the door was locked before letting his eyes sweep over the bag.

Morty shook his head to himself and leaned back against the wall. He wasn’t going to touch it, still convinced that it was part of some test. Morty had said he didn’t want anything, so what would Rick think when he came back and saw that Morty had eaten whatever was in the bag? What if he got mad again that Morty had lied? What if he punished him?

This seemed too…nice. It felt like a trap.

But could it really be a trap? Rick could be nice, right? He brought Morty food and washed his hair sometimes, and that _felt_ nice. Morty hated the other things he did to him, but Rick never hurt him outside of those things, not unless Morty really deserved it, like the wall. Morty deserved the wall. He should have known he couldn’t escape and it was his own fault for trying. Rick was just trying to help him accept that reality, and that was a nice thing to do.

His stomach grumbled in protest and he wrapped his bony arms around his middle. He sagged back against the wall, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and hunger. Rick was right though, he hadn’t eaten all day. Come to think of it, he hadn’t eaten yesterday either. All he could remember was a few sips of water taken in the middle of the night from the bottle Rick had left by his bed.

Resolve crumbling and curiosity unwillingly piqued, Morty crawled towards the bag, gingerly undoing the knot at the top. A comforting, tangy smell wafted up invitingly at him as he peeled away the plastic. The container inside was still warm. Morty took it out and let it rest on his lap for a minute, reveling in the heat that seeped into his bones. He pulled back the lid and almost cried when he saw what was inside.

Lasagna. His favorite.

Morty ripped the fork out of its plastic sleeve and shoveled the food into his mouth, not caring that it burned the roof of his mouth. He ate so fast he knew he’d feel sick later, but he couldn’t care about that right now. All he could think about was how good it was, how it tasted like home. Morty sobbed as he ate, wiping his hand furiously across his eyes. He didn’t want to think of home. This room was home now. This Rick was home now.

All too soon, the container was empty and Morty tossed it back into the bag, his stomach already aching at being so full after barely eating for so long. Morty grabbed the water bottle and downed it in a few gulps to sooth the fire in his mouth. He threw that into the bag too and resumed his former position against the wall. Morty shifted uncomfortably on the bed. Something pricked his palm and he looked down and saw the plastic fork under his hand. He picked it up and absentmindedly ran his fingers over the small prongs.

It would have been so easy, if it hadn’t been made of plastic.

Morty shuddered and tossed the fork into the bag, scared by the thought. He didn’t deserve to have these thoughts. He didn’t dare have them. Not when they could get him in trouble.

He didn’t dare cross Rick again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, Morty’s stomach was doing somersaults. He lay curled on his side, trying to fight back the nausea that plagued him. He knew he shouldn’t have eaten so fast.

That was how Rick found him.

Morty had hoped Rick wouldn’t choose that moment to come in to the room, while he was feeling so sick, but he couldn’t have even that small mercy. When Rick came and Morty was faced with the reality of what was about to happen, it was enough to push him over the edge. He felt a sour tingling in his jaws and scrambled to the plastic bag still by the bed, violently throwing up into it. The relief was immediate, but somehow, underneath everything that had happened to him, Morty still felt embarrassed. He didn’t want Rick, or anyone, to see him this way.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Rick asked.

“I feel sick,” Morty moaned, his head still inside the bag in case his stomach hurt again.

Morty sat miserably on the floor, his throat burning, nose running, lungs on fire. He fleetingly wished his mom could be there with a cool cloth and a soft hand. Instead, it was Rick with rough paper towels and water. Morty was still grateful, though. He was grateful to be taken care of like this. Rick could just as easily have left him to deal with this himself.

Morty stayed docile while Rick held his hair out of the way with one hand and wiped his face with the other. He didn’t dare look into Rick’s eyes, his own disgust and self-pity and embarrassment all coalescing into something terrible inside of him. He wanted Rick to stop touching him, but he also wanted to close his eyes and let himself be soothed by the touch.

“Feeling better?” Rick murmured, passing a final wet napkin across Morty’s cheek. He was both relieved and upset when Rick put the napkin down, and he was confused by his own feelings, but he nodded anyway.

“Good. Turn around.”

Those two words chilled him to the bone. He had hoped, foolishly hoped, that Rick would cut him some slack. Morty finally looked at him, searching for something to grasp, some last shred of hope that could save him. Rick stared coolly back, his face devoid of emotion. He looked kind of bored, even. But Morty knew it was all an act. It had to be. Morty had to believe that Rick felt something. He was just better at hiding his feelings, right? Rick took care of him, didn’t he? That had to mean something. Morty desperately wanted it to mean something because otherwise Rick was just heartless and cruel and Morty had nothing humane he could hang on to.

  
Defeated, Morty turned over onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He opened his eyes and immediately felt the ache from last night. Morty noticed sadly that that becoming a regular thing. His heart hurt in a melancholy way that made him crave something more. He just wanted a hug. He wanted someone to be nice to him. He missed home.

Morty wanted so badly to disappear. Those thoughts overwhelmed him, like a tidal wave cresting over his head and sweeping him under. He pushed himself into a sitting position and hugged his knees. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get out of bed and do all those chores Rick had told him to do. He had no idea where he would summon the energy from, when all he wanted to do was keep sitting there until he didn’t have to exist anymore. The chains weighed his wrists down when he went to pull the blanket up to his chin and it sickened him. Morty hated the way they felt, how they never seemed to get warm even though they sat flush against his tortured skin. The purple bruises dusting his arms reminded him constantly where he was, not that he could ever forget, but it felt worse, somehow, knowing that he was carrying the pain on the outside too.

He swallowed back the urge to cry. There was no point in crying now, not when he couldn’t do anything to change this mess that he was in. There was no use in hoping for miracles or for someone to come save him. What was the point in having thoughts like that, when they would only make him feel even worse? No, it would be better for him if he could just forget about his old life, because as far as he was concerned, that was over. After months of nothing, it should have been easy to believe that his own Rick could just abandon him and find a new Morty. After all, didn’t he still have that Morty voucher?

But Morty just couldn’t bring himself to believe that, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he should. He just couldn’t accept that his Rick had left him there to rot. A small part of him, the tiniest part maybe, still believed that Rick was looking for him. Even though Morty shouldn’t have had these thoughts, even though they only weighed him down and made his heart twist in painful ways, he couldn’t force himself to believe it. But he had to believe it. If he wanted to survive this place, he had to believe that he’d been abandoned.

Morty struggled weakly to his feet and shuffled towards the cup of water that was on the floor. He gulped it down and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Every part of his body ached at the small movement and it drained what little energy Morty had. He went back to the bed and curled up under the blanket, shivering through the thin mattress.

His lower half ached, throbbing to the beat of his heart. Morty didn’t know where one pain ended and the other one began. He squeezed his eyes shut and wished again that he could melt into the floor or evaporate into the air or anything as long as he didn’t have to endure this anymore. He didn’t want to be alive if this was the way he was going to live for the rest of his life. This half-existence behind locked doors wasn’t living. Morty sat on the precipice of life and death, one foot already in the grave.

He dreaded the sound of the door unlocking because he knew what would follow. He knew what Rick would do and how he wouldn’t care what Morty said. He knew what Rick would take, over and over again until Morty had nothing left to give, and then continue to take anyway, even after Morty was left empty and drained. He hated the sex, he hated it so much, but he hated the isolation more. If pain was the price he had to pay for company, he’d pay it. Somehow, he had to find a way to bear it because, after all, Rick didn’t ask for much, and Morty knew he was being selfish by having these thoughts. Rick only did the things he did to teach Morty how to adapt quicker to this new house. It had taken months because Morty was stubborn and stupid, but he was finally learning.

As if on cue, the doorknob jiggled, wrenching Morty out of his morbid thoughts. The hairs on his arms rose with fearful anticipation and he stiffened, preparing himself for what was to come. Rick entered and gave him a once-over.

“You look awful,” he commented. “When was the last time you brushed your hair?”

Morty heard the words, but they felt delayed somehow, as if he were hearing them through a thick veil. He didn’t have it in him to reply, so he just shrugged. He was too tired to say anything else. Maybe if he tried to enjoy the small things, this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe if he just switched his mind off and emptied it of thoughts, then all of this would be easier.

Rick huffed and ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, fishing through his pockets for the key. “I-I’m sure you know by now not to try anything.” He inserted the key into the cuffs’ lock and turned it, the heavy shackles falling away from Morty’s wrists with a loud clank, leaving behind angry red imprints on his skin.

Rick massaged Morty’s wrists somewhat apologetically, murmuring that he’d leave them a little looser next time. “Come on,” he said after a few minutes, pulling Morty to his feet, who kept his head down for the blindfold he knew was coming.

Rick wrapped the fabric around his eyes and led him slowly through the door and out into the house. Even after all this time, Morty still had no idea what the house looked like, or even where he was. Quickly, he shoved the thought away. It was pointless to wonder.

Morty stopped walking when his feet bumped against the cold porcelain of the bathtub. Without hesitation, Rick pulled his shorts off and nudged Morty’s legs. He took the cue and stepped out of them, letting Rick guide him into the tub.

It was already filled with warm water. Morty hissed in pain when the water touched his sore skin and he immediately stilled, listening carefully to gauge Rick’s reaction. If Rick was in a bad mood today, then any little thing could set him off. Morty instantly regretted not being more in control of his reactions and desperately waited for Rick to say something that would tell him if he was in trouble or not.

“Where does it hurt?” Rick asked after a pause. Morty let his shoulders sag in relief and gestured vaguely at his lower half. He knew Rick knew exactly where it hurt. Morty knew he had no more rights to dignity or shame, but he hoped Rick would be satisfied with that answer.

Morty felt Rick reach down to his legs and whimpered.

“Relax, I just need to see,” Rick said, probing his fingers along the bruises that painted his thighs. He accidentally pressed too hard on one and Morty jerked, inadvertently splashing water out of the tub. Morty heard the water splash against the tiles and panicked.

“Fuck, I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean—” he stuttered, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“It’s fine,” Rick said gruffly. “Can you just fucking _relax_? I’m not taking you to the fucking executioner’s block, jeez.”

Morty let his head fall forward and he sat meekly in the tub while Rick wiped up the spilled water. He heard the click of a shampoo bottle’s lid and then Rick’s hands came to rest on his head, surprisingly gentle while he worked the shampoo into his hair.

Morty still felt on edge, unable to relax under the seemingly comforting touch.

Before he could stop them, memories of his mother running her hands through his hair when he was stressed or sick surfaced in his mind. He shoved those thoughts away. It was useless keeping them anyway. But like a break in the damn, other memories followed. Summer, pulling his hair back into a tiny ponytail and dabbing blush onto his cheeks while Morty protested the makeover. His dad, playfully ruffling his hair when he came home from work, before he’d lost his job. His mom, holding him close when he fretted about Jessica. Rick…

Rick was right here, squeezing shampoo out of his hair.

One by one, the thoughts assaulted him until he felt himself shaking in the water. The blindfold was suddenly wet with tears he didn’t know he’d shed. Morty knew Rick felt him crying, there was no way he wouldn’t, but he didn’t say anything. Somehow that made it worse, and Morty felt a new wave of isolation wash over him. Knowing that the cause of his sorrow was right here, knowing Morty couldn’t do anything about it, feeling the utter hopelessness of the situation, made his heart clench and his lungs freeze up until he burned with the overwhelming finality of it all. He swallowed and splashed some water on his face, afraid that if he didn’t move somehow then he would be buried under the weight of his thoughts.

A part of Morty hoped that Rick would stop, that he’d maybe pat his head or put a hand on his shoulder or do something to acknowledge the pain that Morty was in. A part of him wanted to be soothed, even if it was by Rick.

Rick carried on without a pause, as if totally oblivious to the turmoil inside Morty’s mind, as if oblivious to the fact that he was the cause of it all. But it wasn’t oblivion, not really. It was apathy. It _must_ have been apathy.

So Morty was wrong, after all. Rick had never been a good actor. He just hadn’t been acting in the first place—he really didn’t care about Morty. But how could Morty have misinterpreted so badly? He just didn’t understand. What about the time Rick had played with his hair until he fell asleep? Or the time he’d massaged the life back into Morty’s arms? How could all of that mean nothing? If Rick never cared, then Morty couldn’t still be alive. That just didn’t make sense. Rick definitely had to care about him. Maybe he wasn’t reacting now because he was in a rush and had to leave somewhere. That must be it. Rick was just too busy to console him every time Morty started crying.

Although Morty satisfied himself with his circular logic, he still had to be sure.

“Rick?” he began tentatively. He waited to hear Rick grunt in response before continuing. “D-Do you…care? About me?”

The hands on his head froze and Morty didn’t dare move. Had he upset Rick?

“Sure, baby,” Rick said after a pause. “I like having you around.” He continued working the shampoo through Morty’s hair and all seemed to be well.

Morty’s chest swelled in appreciation at the words and he tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that sat deep inside his chest, the part of him that insisted Rick hadn’t really answered the question. Morty had to focus on the positives. The rest didn’t matter anymore.

Rick finished with the shampoo and poured water over Morty’s head, washing out all the bubbles. He scrubbed the rest of him until Morty was sure his skin was beet red, then finally drained the tub. Morty stood up and Rick wrapped a towel around him. His stomach hurt and he just wanted to lay back in bed, but he knew he had to do the things Rick told him to do. He thought of those chores, and he thought of what would happen later that night when Rick came to his room, and he thought of tomorrow when the cycle would start anew. He thought of the future, of doing the same things day in day out, of never having a chance to live his life the way he wanted to live it. Morty thought of all these things and wrapped the towel tighter around himself.

He had to focus on the positives. Rick treated him well. That was all that mattered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since coming here, Morty had lost a lot of weight. It was slow in the beginning, but the longer he didn’t eat, the thinner he got. He didn’t know how much thinner because there were no mirrors in his room, but he could tell in the way his ribs and hip bones jut out more than they used to. He felt it in the way he’d get winded doing basic tasks. He could see it by the way his shorts hung loosely from his hips, and how he needed to use a piece of fabric ripped off the edge of the blanket as a belt to keep them in place.

Morty walked until he felt the familiar wooden floor of his room and waited for Rick to take off the blindfold. He kept his eyes down until they’d readjusted to the light and then fixed the towel so that it was tied around his waist.

“Could-could I get my shorts back, please? And then I-I’ll start the chores,” he said in an almost-whisper. These days he didn’t have much use for his voice. There was no point in talking anymore. Rick took what he want, told Morty to do what he needed, and that was that. Morty just had to learn to be more grateful for this routinization.

Rick handed over the shorts and waited for Morty to put them on. That was nothing new. Rick was present in every aspect of Morty’s life now. Morty just dropped the towel and stepped into his shorts. In the beginning, he used to beg Rick to turn around, to give him some sort of privacy, but Rick always ignored him. Morty learned to swallow his pride and forget about privacy; that was the path of least resistance. Obeying Rick without a second thought was always the path to least resistance. He only hurt himself by resisting. It was easier this way. He was learning now.

Morty waited for Rick to bring him the cleaning supplies. Cleaning wasn’t so hard since the room wasn’t that big, but it always drained him and left him extra docile, even more so since he’d lost the weight. He used to think that Rick only made him clean so that he’d tire himself out. The next day or two after cleaning, his thighs always ached from crouching down, so he put up less of a fight. Now, he knew the real reason for the chores. Rick was helping him adjust. A part of him wasn’t really happy with that reason, but the rest of him shoved those negative thoughts away.

The only part he hated doing now was oiling the chains so that they didn’t squeak. He despised those chains so much, and knowing that he was oiling them purely so that Rick didn’t have to hear them squeak just made him sad.

Rick came back with the bucket and dropped it by Morty’s feet.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” Rick said. Morty nodded and watched him leave.

His shoulders sagged in exhaustion and he rubbed a shaking hand over his damp forehead. He toweled his hair a few times to get the extra water out and then hung it on the doorknob, getting quickly to work.

When the floor was done, Morty sat on the bed for a few minutes to catch his breath before starting on the window. Cleaning the window was tricky because of the metal bars overlaid on them. Rick had installed them before bringing Morty here, a fact that had made Morty sick the first time he’d realized it. It meant that Rick had planned this for a while, that his abduction hadn’t been a spur of the moment thing. He didn’t know if that was worse than if it had been an impulsive thing, but it certainly made him feel worse.

Morty threw the cloth into the bucket with the others when he was done with the window and grabbed the vial of oil. He hated how empty these tasks were. He did them because he had to do them, but they had no meaning. Rick only made him do this to break him even more, and Morty hated that it was working. He knew what was happening, could see himself headed towards something he didn’t want to become, but he just couldn’t find the willpower to stop it. There was no point trying to change because it didn’t matter. It was easier to jump headfirst into reality than wait for Rick to shove him into it. Somehow, he had to survive until…until what? Until he died, he guessed. Or maybe until Rick replaced him, but even if he was replaced he doubted Rick would just let him go. Probably Rick would just kill him. Somehow, the thought didn’t scare Morty as much as it used to. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had just come to accept it as an ultimate reality.

Besides, it didn’t have to be all bad until then. Rick could be kind, when he wanted to be.

Suddenly he heard a loud crash from another part of the house and the vial of oil slipped from his hands. He caught it before it spilled and pressed his ear against the wall. It sounded like a fight broke out downstairs. He could hear arguing and furniture breaking.

Morty shrank in to the corner. He didn’t know what was happening but it didn’t sound good. If this Rick was anything like all the other Ricks, then he had many enemies of his own.

“This way!” someone shouted, the voice growing louder. Morty heard pounding feet and fearfully covered himself with the blanket. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep they wouldn’t hurt him.

“Open the door,” the person ordered. It sounded like he was right on the other side. Morty panicked. He couldn’t reach the door, how was he supposed to open—?

“Okay, okay, jeez, calm down,” Rick said, interrupting Morty’s thoughts.

Rick was with them? They were telling _him_ to open the door?

The door burst open and three men in suits walked inside.

No, not just men. _Ricks._

“What the fuck is this?” one of them asked angrily after taking in the mostly-empty room. He whirled around to face Rick. “Where did you hide it?”

“I-it’s not here you dumbfucks, that’s what I’m _telling_ you,” his Rick said, exasperated. “If I had the antimatter gun d-don’t you think I’d hide it in a less obvious fucking place?”

“Hey, who’s this?” another one asked, squinting at Morty, who shivered and pulled the blanket up further. The first one, getting ready to throw a few punches, stopped and turned around.

“A Morty?” He squinted, too. “Since when do you have a Morty?” he asked.

Morty shook underneath the blanket.

“He’s new,” his Rick said mildly.

“New?” the third Rick spat, raising a brow. “W-where’d you steal him from?”

“I adopted him recently,” his Rick said. “Look, dipshit, my personal life is-is none of your business. Y-You came here for the gun and I don’t have it, so get the fuck out of my house.”

The second Rick still hadn’t looked away from Morty and it was starting to make him uncomfortable. It was like this Rick could look right through him into his soul. It was unsettling.

“Are those bruises?” he asked, inching closer.

Fuck, Morty had forgotten about the marks on his neck where Rick had bitten him. He pulled the blanket up to cover them and averted his eyes.

“Th-th-they’re just—” he stuttered, unable to form a coherent response under the piercing gaze of this Rick. “Th—”

“You’re getting into my sex life now, buddy? That’s just—that’s crossing a line,” his Rick said, stepping in between Morty and the suited Ricks. Morty flushed a deep crimson and chewed his lip anxiously. He hated where this conversation had gone and wished everyone would leave.

The second Rick looked suspiciously between the two of them and reached for his portal gun. 

“Since you just _adopted_ this Morty, then you won’t mind if we take him back to the Citadel for verification.”

“Why the fuck would I let you do that?” his Rick asked, crossing his arms. Morty sensed that Rick was suddenly nervous. If Morty had been reported missing, then the Citadel would have it on file, and Rick could be charged with kidnapping.

“Because you don’t really have a choice,” the first Rick said, stepping forward. “W-We outrank you, asshole.”

“W-Why don’t you ask him for yourself if you’re so concerned then,” his Rick sneered. “Go on, ask him if he wants to go with you.”

The second Rick stepped around his Rick and crouched down to Morty’s level.

“Y-You wanna come with us, little buddy? We can get you home.”

 _We can get you home_.

Suddenly, Morty understood what was happening. This was a test to see if Morty really was learning. If he failed, Rick would tie him up to the wall again. Morty had to prove his worth, he had to show that he was adapting to this new life.

Morty looked at his Rick, who stared back warningly, and then he turned his eyes to the Rick kneeling in front of him and forced a shaky smile.

“I-I-I am home,” he said. “Th-this is my Rick.”

In the tense few seconds that followed, Morty couldn’t tell if the Ricks had bought it. The one in front of him still looked unconvinced, but at the urging of the other Ricks, he finally seemed to decide it wasn’t worth the confrontation, and stood up to join the others by the door.

“You better hope we find that gun,” he said, “otherwise the outcome won’t be so great for you.”

He shot a portal in front of him and the three of them jumped through it. Once they were gone, Rick breathed out in relief and sank to his knees next to Morty.

“Baby, you did so well,” he said, pulling Morty in for a tight hug. “I know you must’ve been scared, but y-you were so brave saying those things. Don’t worry Morty, I won’t let them come back. I’m gonna make the house untraceable Morty, totally off the radar. N-No one will ever be able to portal in again.”

Rick pulled back from the hug and ruffled Morty’s hair. “My smart little boy, so quick on your feet. Y-You made me so proud today.” Morty swelled with pride and offered another nervous smile. He wished Rick would hug him again. He felt…safe when Rick held him like that. He felt cared for. He wanted to feel that again.

Morty hesitantly reached forward and wrapped his arms around Rick’s waist. Rick was thin, but he was strong, and Morty could feel the steady muscle through his clothes. Rick stiffened in surprise at first, but then relaxed and wrapped his arms around Morty again.

Morty buried his head into Rick’s shoulder and thought about how the words he’d said hadn’t been a lie.

This _was_ his home now, and, for better or for worse, this was his new Rick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, while Morty waited for sleep, he mulled Rick’s words over and over in his head. Somehow, he felt more whole, like Rick had found the cracks in Morty’s mind and filled them with his pride and satisfaction.

He ignored the way his heart ached when Rick said he was going to make the house untraceable. Morty was never getting out, so going off the radar didn’t matter. The best thing he could do now was embrace the situation and try to make the best of it.

Morty closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morty you poor fool, you missed your chance to escape.
> 
> Hey lovelies i'm sooooo sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. all my midterms and deadlines hit me over the course of the last 3 weeks so it's been a steady barrage of work. i ran out of time to edit this chapter so if its a shit chapter that's why lol! sorry ugh
> 
> the next chapter will be a while (couple weeks) because now finals are coming up (yay), just wanted to give yall a heads up. 
> 
> feel free to say hello to me on tumblr! or whatever you do on there tbh 
> 
> thanks for reading! :)


	5. Chapter 5

“Y-you want a what?” Rick asked, skeptically raising an eyebrow.

Morty had spent weeks working up the nerve to make a request.

“A T.V.,” Morty repeated meekly. “Or-or some books, or…” He trailed off, not sure how to continue. “I just really hate the quiet.”

Rick gazed at him, as if deliberating. Morty awkwardly looked down, but not before a saw a flash of something on Rick’s face, something like pity. But Rick cared about him, there was no reason he should pity him.

Yes the sex hurt, and Morty would rather not do it, but Rick was merciful. He never hit him or raised a hand to him and he never left any permanent damage. Morty was grateful for those small mercies, so grateful.

Everything in Morty’s life centered around Rick now. When he ate, when he slept, it was all impacted by Rick. Morty spent his days waiting for him to come, wondering what he’d bring, wondering what he’d say.

In a strange way, Morty had come to crave Rick’s presence. He yearned for contact with anyone after being kept in isolation for so long. He couldn’t explain why he felt the way he did, but he needed it. Morty didn’t know how to describe the dull pain in his chest that he felt whenever Rick didn’t visit him that day. He hated the confusing ball of emotions that sat tangled in the pit of his stomach, and some small parts of him hated Rick too, for everything he’d done to him, but all of that was overshadowed by the relief he felt whenever Rick came.

“Fine, I’ll install one tomorrow,” Rick said, breaking Morty out of his reverie.

“W-what?” Morty asked. What had they been talking about again? Rick snorted in amusement.

“The T.V. I’ll bring one tomorrow,” he repeated.

“Oh. Thank you, Rick,” Morty said. He was so relieved that Rick hadn’t shot him down. Another wave of gratitude washed over him.

Rick ran his hand through Morty’s hair. “Sure, kid.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The T.V. hummed in the background for most of the day. Sometimes Morty actively watched it, but usually he kept it on to fill the silence. It made him feel less alone.

“Hey M-Morty,” Rick said, opening the door. “Y-You wanna come with me somewhere?”

“Come with…w-what?” Had he heard that right?

“I need to make a delivery. I-I could use a second set of hands.” Rick looked so hopeful, Morty didn’t have it in him to refuse. The happier Rick stayed, the better it was for Morty. But beyond that, Morty found himself wanting to please Rick. He didn’t want to disappoint him.

Morty caught a glimpse of the hallway through the open doorway and suddenly felt overwhelmed. After spending months in this room, he’d stopped thinking about the rest of the world. In a strange way, everything else had ceased to carry any meaning. Morty had no reason to think about the world outside anymore. Everything he needed, everything he could ever be was in here, inside these walls.

“I—are you sure?” Morty asked, chewing his lip nervously. Truth be told, he was scared. He didn’t know how dangerous the delivery would be; surely Rick knew that Morty no longer had any of his former stamina. Walking from his room to the shower was enough to leave him winded.

And deep down, Morty knew he didn’t really have a choice anyway.

“Yeah, baby, it’ll be fun,” Rick said, striding toward him with the key in his hand. Morty held his arms out for Rick to uncuff the locks and then got shakily to his feet. He waited for Rick to wrap the blindfold around his eyes. When Rick slipped his hand into Morty’s and led him out of the room, the anxiety in the pit of his stomach grew. He wasn’t sure what to expect and he wasn’t sure what Rick expected of him.

Once they were seated in the space car, Rick pulled off the blindfold and started the engine. It growled to life beneath them, the familiar vibrations almost bringing Morty to tears. He remembered when his old Rick used to take him for adventures. This car was a little newer and cleaner, but it still reminded him of all the trips he’d been on before.

His eyes stung with unshed tears but Morty impatiently blinked them away. Now wasn’t the time to cry. He had to be grateful to Rick for letting him tag along on this trip. Morty hadn’t realized how much he missed going on adventures until he looked at the vast expanse of stars in front of him and felt at home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rick pulled down into a parking spot delineated by clean white lines. Around them were similar ships parked, some more damaged than others. Morty looked further into the distance and saw the horizon punctured by tall, sharp buildings.

“Where are we?” he asked in a small voice. Now that they were about to get started, Morty’s anxiety was back twofold. He held on to the ship’s door tightly, not wanting to let go of the only familiar thing he knew.

“The Citadel,” Rick said. “I hate this place, so we’ll make this fast. Th-the sooner we can leave, the better. C’mon.”

Rick walked towards the buildings, Morty trailing close behind.

When they reached the central atrium, the Citadel’s bustling and lively center, Morty almost couldn’t believe his eyes. Out of all the insane things he had seen on his adventures, this had to be at the top of list.

Identical copies of himself and of Rick roamed the paved roads, some in a hurry, other dawdling. The Ricks paid the two of them no mind, pushing past them and dragging their hapless Mortys behind them.

“First time here, eh?” a passing Rick asked him cheerily.

Morty whipped his head around to look at the identical carbon copy talking to him.

“Y-yes,” he whispered.

“Don’t worry kid, you get used to it,” he said, patting him roughly on the back before walking away. Morty saw…himself?...following this Rick, but he looked different. His skin was a pale shade of green.

Morty’s own Rick grabbed his hand and squeezed. He looked wary and squinted at the Rick and his green Morty in suspicion.

“Don’t talk to any of these weirdos, M-Morty. Just stick close to me and you’ll be fine.”

Morty squeezed back tightly and didn’t let go. This place was the lion’s den, and his Rick was the only one who could keep him safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

True to Rick’s word, they were in and out quickly. Morty didn’t know what they were delivering, and he didn’t care to know. He felt giddy, almost high even, at being outside today. After the delivery was over and the anxiety melted away, all that was left was amazement. Morty couldn’t believe a place like this existed. He didn’t care much for the other Ricks, but all the other Mortys? They fascinated him. He knew, of course, that there were infinite copies of himself and Rick, but knowing about it in theory and seeing it in practice were two completely different things. Morty couldn’t believe they all lived and worked together like that. Did the novelty ever wear off? He wondered what it would be like to see identical copies of himself every day, wherever he went.

“How’re you feeling, baby? Good?” Rick asked, turning his head to look at Morty from the side while he drove them home.

“Y-yeah,” Morty said. “It felt nice being outside again. I-I’d like to come with you again, i-if that’s ok.”

Rick almost looked surprised, but he composed himself quickly. “Yeah baby, I’ll take you along to someplace fun next time.” Morty nodded and almost blushed at his own boldness. He’d been worried that asking to go again would be too much, but he was so glad that Rick took it in stride. Maybe if Morty went out more, he would feel less…breakable. Maybe he could learn to be happy again. Maybe he could learn to love this life.

Rick smiled at him before turning back to face the open, starry sky.

A memory thrust itself across Morty’s eyes in that moment, superimposing the image of his old Rick smiling in the exact same way, from the exact same position.

The same ship, the same stories, repeated across a thousand timelines.

He thought of the other Mortys in the Citadel. Did they know that their lives didn’t matter? Did they know that, no matter what they did, it had already been done before?

Morty swallowed the feelings that had come so suddenly and forced himself back to reality, forced himself to return Rick’s smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Rick came to Morty’s room, as expected. Morty shifted over on the mattress to make room, stifling the claustrophobia he always felt beforehand. He took a deep breath, readying himself for Rick’s touch.

In the dark, he felt the mattress dip down next to him under Rick’s weight. Before Morty could turn over, Rick curled around him and threw an arm lightly over his waist.

Then, nothing.

Morty lay frozen in shock. Was that all? Rick just wanted to…sleep together? Without doing anything? Slowly he let out the air from his lungs and, inch by inch, relaxed. Somehow, the heavy warmth of Rick against his back was soothing, as if it grounded Morty.

Now, Rick was the only person who knew Morty was still alive. He was the only thing keeping him tied to the world. In a way, Rick really did ground him.

Morty waited for Rick’s breaths to deepen before daring to touch him. He trailed his fingers lightly over the smooth skin on Rick’s arm and marveled at how familiar it felt. He wanted so badly to pretend, but he knew that dredging up memories of the past would only hurt him now. Morty forced himself to acknowledge the fact that this Rick was _not_ his old one. No, they were as different as could be.

But that didn’t mean that Morty didn’t see the good in this Rick, too. This Rick cared.

Right now, that was all Morty needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, so sorry for the delay! And sorry this is such a short chapter! I lost track of time and realized suddenly that I'd gone way too long without updating so I wanted to post this to bridge the gap. I promise there's more action coming up in the future. I know the last couple chapters have been slow but things are gonna pick up soon.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	6. Chapter 6

They were out making another delivery at the Citadel. Morty still shied away from the other copies of themselves, wedging himself tightly to Rick’s side whenever they walked through the Citadel’s crowded avenues.

“Morty, I-I need to go inside and I want you to wait out here. It’ll just be—it’s just gonna take a second,” Rick said, stopping outside a tall, gilded gate engraved ostentatiously with the initials ‘R.S.’ The rest of the house behind the gate looked just as grand, from what little Morty could see. Most of the building was blocked from view by large, sweeping treetops that blended together in a huge canopy around the house.

A straggling Rick stumbled past the gates, muttering drunkenly to himself. A Morty, looking worse for wear, trailed close by. They were dressed in tattered rags that dragged behind them on the mottled pavement. Wherever this house was, it was clearly in one of the worst parts of the Citadel.  Hot anxiety started bubbling up in Morty’s chest.

“W-wait Rick, let me come with you, don’t leave me out here.”

“I don’t trust those fuckers,” Rick said, narrowing his eyes towards the house. “You’ll be safer out here.”

“But—”

“I’ll be back quickly, I promise. Just keep your head down and stick close to the gate. These assholes know not to get too close. You’ll be fine, M-Morty.”

Morty desperately wanted to panic at the prospect of being separated from Rick in such a seedy part of town, but he also wanted to prove to Rick that he could handle himself. He nodded shakily and wrapped an unsteady hand around the bars of the gate, clutching so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Rick returned the nod and ran a hand through Morty’s hair, a last reassurance before waving to an armed guard who stood on the other side of the gate.

“State your business,” the guard ordered.

“I’m here on a delivery,” Rick said easily, flashing a cocky smile. He pointed at the pocket on his lab coat and waited for the guard to call someone on his phone. The guard snapped his phone shut and pressed something into a keypad, waving Rick through when the gate slid open.

“What about him?” the guard asked, thrusting a finger towards Morty, who shivered like a leaf under his piercing gaze.

“He’s waiting for me here,” Rick said, looking back over his shoulder as he headed to the front door alongside the guard. Morty tried to absorb the confidence that Rick emitted, but he didn’t miss the undercurrents of worry that Rick tried to hide.

Morty gripped the gate tighter and kept his eyes down, listening to the racehorse thunder of his heartbeat and trying to stay calm.

A few Ricks walked by, leering at Morty before taking in the house and bitterly looking away. Morty didn’t know who lived there or why there was so much security—although he could guess at the illicit things going on inside those walls—but in that moment, he was grateful that the homeowners commanded so much fear from these shady Ricks. It was the only thing keeping Morty safe.

“H-hey,” a sandpaper voice called to him. Morty looked up and saw a Rick standing a distance away.

Morty ignored him and his heart impossibly kicked up another notch.

_Please leave please leave please leave._

“Hey, you-you for sale?” the Rick asked, stepping closer.

Morty didn’t say anything, pressing himself further against the gate.

“H-hey, I’m t-talking to you,” the Rick said, a growl creeping into his voice. Morty shivered.

“Fuck off, pal!” a guard Rick shouted through the gate. Morty heard the shrill whine of a laser gun powering up and almost melted with relief.

The guard Rick cocked the gun and aimed it through the bars of the gate at the offending Rick.

“Leave the premises,” he ordered coolly.

“Alright, fine, _jeez_ ,” the straggler Rick muttered, putting his hands up and shuffling away.

Morty leaned heavily against the gate, counting the seconds until Rick returned.

Time passed agonizingly slowly. After what felt like two hours, but was probably only fifteen minutes, Morty heard footsteps. He pressed his face eagerly between the bars and saw Rick approaching.

He stepped back when the gate slid open and practically threw himself next to Rick’s side, where he felt most comfortable. Almost all of the angst and stress melted away and he finally felt safe again. With Rick next to him, no one in the Citadel would dare hurt him.

“How was it? Did anyone bother you?” Rick asked, weaving his hand through Morty’s.

“S-someone tried, but the guard made him leave,” Morty said, letting out a heavy breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Did y-you make the delivery?”

“Yea, everything went fine,” Rick said, squeezing Morty’s hand once. “You wanna get ice cream?”

The concept of getting ice cream with a Rick that wasn’t his own should have felt alien to Morty, but he accepted the idea with little debate. He knew he had to get used to this new life sooner or later, and he had long since accepted that resisting was pointless, so it was better to just agree.

“Sure Rick,” Morty said, giving a smile that didn’t feel as forced as it should have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rick still kept the chains fastened around Morty’s wrists, but they were more of a formality than anything now. They both knew that Morty wouldn’t try anything. Even though Morty hated them and their cold weight, he never complained anymore. He just tried to appreciate how Rick left them a lot looser than before.

Sometimes ideas flit through Morty’s thoughts, ideas of how to escape or how he could overpower Rick when Rick wasn’t paying attention, but Morty banished those ideas as quickly as they came. They were always tinged with betrayal.

It wasn’t Rick’s fault that his timeline didn’t have a Morty. He was just trying to make the best of the situation and know what life was like with a grandson. That didn’t inherently make him a bad person.

That night, after they got home from the Citadel, Rick came into Morty’s room, and for the first time, it didn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! Sorry for the long wait, I'm literally the worst at updating.
> 
> This is part 1 of a two part chapter! Part 2 (chapter 7) will be up tomorrow. 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well! <3


	7. Chapter 7

Rick took Morty on adventures with him most days of the week. Sometimes they went to beautiful alien planets with yellow skies and purple trees and birds that sang haunting music, and other times they went to cold, uninhabitable places that rained dust and stones. Whatever they did, it was never too dangerous. True to his word, Rick kept Morty safe.

Morty’s least favorite place so far was the Citadel, and unfortunately that’s where they were going that day.

“Are we going to the same place as last time?” Morty asked. Usually he never asked questions about Rick’s business, but today he couldn’t help himself. His skin prickled at the idea of going back to that preened house surrounded by wreckage and stragglers.

“No baby, we’re going someplace else. I-it’s gonna be crowded though, so I need you to stay close,” Rick said, looking into the rear-view mirror before letting the space car fall neatly into a parking spot.

They walked down the familiar path of the central atrium, with Morty keeping his eyes trained on the ground in front of him. He had one hand in Rick’s and the other hand grasped tightly around Rick’s forearm.

A particularly large group of Ricks bustled past them just then. One of them accidentally kicked Morty in the shin and he gasped, instinctually grabbing his leg in pain. The crowd pushed Morty further back until he stumbled and fell. When he got up, he realized he had no idea where Rick had gone.

“Oh fuck. Fuck fuck,” Morty muttered, looking around him in a panic. How the hell was he supposed to find Rick now?

“Ok, just stay calm,” he told himself, willing his anxiety to quiet down for just a second. He couldn’t think if he panicked, he had to stay calm. Maybe he could ask someone for help. What was that rule that his mother taught him again? If he ever got lost, he should ask a woman with kids for help.

Surrounded by copies of himself and Rick, there was no way he’d be able to find a woman at all.

“Ok, plan B,” Morty said. Talking to himself helped. It grounded him. “Oh god, what do I do?”

A Morty bumped into him and murmured apologies before stepping around him and continuing forward.

That’s it! Maybe he could ask a Morty. Surely one of the Mortys here had gotten lost before and knew what to do?

“Ex—um—ex-excuse me,” he hesitantly started, reaching out to the nearest Morty. The Morty looked identical to him except for his neon orange shirt.

“Yes?” Orange Morty asked.

“I-I’m lost, I can’t find my Rick. Is-is there someplace I can go…?” Morty trailed off, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to ask. Was there a lost and found for Mortys in the Citadel?

“Oh, you can go to the Morty Lost and Found office,” Orange Morty suggested, squinting at the buildings around him like he was trying to remember where it was.

Morty snorted. Of course an office like that existed. But he was secretly relieved that it did because that meant he had a solution.

“What are you doing?” Rick asked, coming up behind Orange Morty. For a moment, Morty’s heart lifted, thinking his Rick had found him. But the hopes died quickly when Rick turned his head and Morty saw an eyepatch covering one of his eyes. “Who the hell is this? I-I told you not to fuck around.”

Eyepatch Rick grabbed Orange Morty’s arm and pulled him away, grumbling about respect and obeying orders. Orange Morty shot Morty an apologetic look and was soon swallowed up by the crowd. 

 _Just ask someone else_ , he reminded himself. There was no need to panic. He had to stay calm.

It felt so strange acting independently. For so long, he’d come to depend on Rick for everything. Now, he was essentially on his own.

Morty was about to flag down someone else when he paused. _He was on his own_. He could do whatever he wanted.

He was at a crossroads, and he had a decision to make.

If Morty didn’t want to go back to Rick, he didn’t have to. After having surrendered his own will to Rick for so long, it was almost hard to think about what he wanted for himself. What did Morty want to do?

He could try to find Rick and go back home. That was really the best option. Without a Rick, he was effectively stranded at the Citadel because he wasn’t sure the other Ricks would be open to helping a Rickless Morty get home. That wasn’t a risk he was ready to take. And besides, he didn’t really want to stay at the Citadel given how much he hated it.

He could try to get back to his home dimension, but his heart ached at the thought. Would his family even want him back after everything he’d been through? Morty was sullen, dirty. The only person who could ever want him now was his new Rick. He couldn’t risk that either, going home only to be rejected by his family.

Morty almost winced at the idea of running away. He was being ungrateful. Rick had done a lot to help him, even if in the beginning it hadn’t been pleasant. A small thought in the back of his mind insisted that he’d never really be able to get away from Rick anyway. Rick would find him, no matter where Morty went. If Rick wanted Morty to stay, then Morty didn’t really have a choice.

He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, thinking what to do, when someone grabbed him from behind.

“H-hey! Put me down!” he shouted, struggling against the grip pinning his arms to his sides.

“Are you lost, baby?” the assailant leered in his ear. Morty recognized the voice as belonging to a Rick.

“L-let me go asshole, my Rick is expecting me,” Morty said, his attempt at a growl coming out like a squeak instead.

“No he isn’t, you’ve been standing there looking around like a dumbass. Y-you’re definitely lost,” the Rick laughed, grabbing both of Morty’s wrists in one hand and pulling them behind his back. Morty’s heart pounded in his ears and he suddenly felt dizzy, memories suddenly washing over him in a stifling wave. He remembered the feeling of Rick on top of him, pressing him down into the ratty mattress. He remembered the way Rick had pulled his wrists above his head. He remembered gritting his teeth and turning his head so Rick wouldn’t see him cry.

Morty’s legs shook underneath him and he struggled to stay on his feet.

“Please, just—just let me go. I just want to go home.” Morty wasn’t sure which home he meant.

“No chance buddy. Finding a Rickless Morty is just too good to pass up.”

Morty paled and tried to sound brave. “If you don’t let me go, I-I’m gonna scream.”

The Rick shrugged. “Go ahead. No one here's gonna care.”

Morty squeezed his eyes shut, knowing this Rick was right. He couldn’t believe this was happening again. What was wrong with him? Why was he so bad at defending himself?

He imagined what this Rick wanted from him and he balled his fists. No, he _wasn’t_ going to let this happen again. If he didn’t stand up for himself, no one else would. He couldn’t wait around for someone to save him.

Morty violently twisted around and bit down hard on Rick’s arm. As soon as Rick shouted in pain and let go, Morty made a run for it, desperate to put as much distance between him and that Rick as possible. He flew through the crowd, running in the direction of the traffic. He made a sharp left down another populated street and slowed to a walk, pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead. His legs protested the sudden physical activity and his lungs burned, but Morty didn’t stop until he was far enough away to where he felt safe. When he spotted a Rick who seemed to be walking alone, he followed closely behind, hoping that the Rick wouldn’t turn around and notice.

Morty followed the Rick for a few more tense minutes, half-expecting the other Rick to find him. In that moment, he was so glad to be surrounded by his lookalikes. Hiding in plain sight, there was no way that that Rick could get to him again.

When the coast seemed clear, Morty stopped trailing the Rick and asked around until a relatively patient Rick pointed him in the direction of the lost and found office.

“How can I help you?” a bored Rick asked from the receptionist’s desk as soon as Morty stepped into the air-conditioned office. His name tag read ‘Rik.’

“H-hi, I’m um…I got separated from my Rick, and—”

“Dimension number?” Rik asked, hands poised over the keyboard, ready to input the information. He didn’t bother looking at Morty.

“Uh…” Morty had no idea which dimension to say. The only dimension he knew was his home dimension, C-124. The idea from earlier floated through his thoughts again. Could it really be that easy? All Morty had to do was say his dimension and Rik would be able to send him home.

Morty’s eyes flitted to the office window. Somewhere out there, in the hustle and bustle of the Citadel, Rick was wandering those streets, looking for Morty. He was closer to Morty than Morty’s old life.

But if Rick found him before Rik could contact C-124 Rick, it was game over. Morty was too scared to risk angering Rick again, especially since he’d been so nice to him lately. Ever since the wall incident, things had slowly gotten better. Morty didn’t want to undo all of that progress. He wanted things to stay more or less _good_. And even if Rik did manage to locate C-124 Rick in time, Morty didn’t want to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, waiting for the inevitable moment until Rick found him again.

“Are you gonna give me your dimension number or are you gonna stand there all day?” Rik asked impatiently, drumming his fingers against his desk.

Morty had to decide.

“S-Sorry. I…I don’t know my dimension number.”

Rik sighed. “Figures,” he muttered. “Put your hand in here.” Rik pointed to a small black box with a space cut out in the middle. Morty pushed his hand into the space and a sharp needle pricked his palm.

“Ouch!” he cried, yanking his arm back.

“Relax, it’s just to get a blood sample.”

Rik stared at the computer screen, brow furrowed in concentration. “Ok, your tracker says you’re from dimension 929-Z.”

Tracker? That must have been part of the serum Rick had injected into him in the beginning. Maybe it was better then that Morty decided to stay. He’d only be putting his family in danger if he went home now.

“Ok…so what should I do?” Morty asked, rubbing his palm.

“Since you _have_ a tracker, you can wait here until your Rick shows up. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes if he’s still at the Citadel,” Rik said, looking utterly bored. “Go sit over there.”

Morty sat down obediently at a row of chairs near the desk and looked around the small office. Framed pictures of flowers hung from the walls and potted plants sat in the corners. Opposite him was a board with dozens of flyers pinned to it. Each flyer had the picture and dimension number of a Morty, but the rest of the words were too small to read. Morty averted his eyes; it still felt weird to him to look at other copies of himself. Even the more exotic ones—like the Gaseous Morty’s flyer along the bottom row of the board—creeped him out.

True to Rik’s words, the glass doors slid open a few minutes later and a very stressed Rick came into the office.

“Are you 929-Z?” Rik asked. The Rick nodded. “Put your hand into the box, I need to verify.”

A few moments passed in tense silence while Rik verified the identify of the Rick.

“Ok, you’re clear. He’s over there,” Rik said, waving a hand towards Morty.

Rick whirled around and saw Morty sitting down. He exhaled with relief and strode over quickly, holding his arms open wide. Morty stepped closer uneasily, the memories from before still fresh in his mind.

“Y-you’re such a good boy, you knew exactly what to do, didn’t you?” Rick cooed, pulling Morty into a hug so tight it made his ribs ache. “My smart baby. I was so worried.”

Morty bit back the sudden nausea that grew in the pit of his stomach and let himself be pulled into the big. He tried to ignore the rational part of his brain, the part that argued that the only reason Rick was so worried was that he thought Morty had run away.

Morty tentatively returned the hug, his head fitting neatly around Rick’s shoulder. As much as he wanted to step back and let Rick take the lead again, something felt off. Morty closed his eyes, taking in the minty smell of Rick’s aftershave, willing the familiar scent to soothe him, but it didn’t. He felt awkward, uncomfortable, utterly exhausted, and a thousand other emotions he couldn’t name. Morty wasn’t so sure that he’d made the right decision by waiting for Rick. It was the easiest way, that was true, but he didn’t know if it was the _right_ way.

Rick let go and Morty opened his eyes, once again catching the flyer board in front of him. From his closer position, he could see that it was actually a missing Mortys board. Each flyer had a last seen date written below the picture.

Rick grabbed his hand and led him out of the office. Morty followed, sadly reading the flyers on his way out. Some of those Mortys had been missing for a long time.

Along the bottom row of pictures, near the Gaseous Morty’s flyer, Morty saw one that made him pause. Right before the doors of the office slid closed, he read the words on the page.

_Missing: Morty Smith, no alterations_

_Dimension: C-124_

_Last seen: February 8, 2017_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morty you poor, dumb fool, you had TWO chances.


	8. Chapter 8

Rick was out on a business trip again, but this time he hadn’t taken Morty with him. It had been three days, Morty estimated. He kept the T.V. on as background noise most of the time, unsettled by the silence now that he had the option of white noise.

He hadn’t been able to sleep ever since he saw the flyer.

He wished he could go back in time and say no to the adventures in the first place. He wished he hadn’t gotten separated from Rick, that he hadn’t asked for directions, that he hadn’t gone to the lost and found office. He wished he’d never found out about the picture. It was easier not knowing. It was easier pretending that he was stuck in a dream without having to acknowledge that this was his reality now. Finding out that it had been more than a year since he’d gone missing meant that time had gone on without him, that his family had spent all that time living without him, that the world had continued moving forward even though Morty’s life had been put on hold, and, more importantly, that his original Rick had been looking for him this whole time.

Morty leaned back against the wall, shifting the chains so that he could sit comfortably. He didn’t even notice them anymore, so used to the extra weight he’d become. With the veil lifted from his eyes, he began to see just how settled in he’d gotten. Slowly, so slowly, he’d started to consider this room _his_ , this routine his. By accepting Rick as the center of his world, he’d accepted this new life.

Morty looked down at his hands clasped neatly in his lap. They were almost disgustingly thin and bony, the pale skin marred by scars. He caught sight of his reflection in the T.V. screen and wouldn’t have recognized himself had it not been for the fact that it couldn’t be anyone else.

He was thinner than he ever remembered being. Hollowed cheeks and haunted eyes taunted him from his reflection. He looked away bitterly and tried to switch his mind back off, back to where it had been three days ago, before the bubble around him had snapped.

He didn’t know why that tiny discovery—just seeing his flyer—hurt him so much, but it felt like he hadn’t been doing…enough. He had just accepted his entire situation at face value. He hadn’t fought hard enough.

_What if I never get another chance to leave?_

Had he made the right choice three days ago? What if his chance at the Citadel had been his only one, and he gave it up without really thinking about it?

He hadn’t tried hard enough, that was true, but it was too late to start now. Morty had settled into the rhythm of this new life, had found a balance with Rick that was kind of bearable. He rarely thought of home anymore; he’d taught himself long ago that those thoughts were too painful and pointless. Even now, struck with the realization of how much time had elapsed, he found that trying to remember the past felt _off_ somehow, like the memories had thickened, like they no longer belonged to him. It felt like he was intruding on a stranger’s memories. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Morty felt dirty, as if he had discovered a secret he shouldn’t have. If given a choice, he would never have chosen to come to this house and this Rick, but now that he was here, he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to stay either, but… it was so confusing trying to figure out how he felt. Morty still loathed the emptiness he felt deep in his chest every time they had sex, but there was more than that now. Morty didn’t think he could just go back to his old life as if nothing had happened. He wished there was some in-between world he could go to and start over without having to deal with the past and the present, but that was just wishful thinking, and he’d long since accepted that such thinking was a waste of time.

Forward. He had to move forward. He couldn’t afford to dwell on those thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty dripped oil onto a cloth from the bucket by his bed and greased the joints of the chains with it. He hated the squeaks they made when he didn’t do a good enough job.

 It was day four and Rick still hadn’t come back. He rarely took this long, and the nagging worry festered in the back of Morty’s mind. What if Rick never came back, and Morty was stuck there alone forever, chained to the wall until he died? A grotesque image of his skeleton, held fast to the wall by manacles, flashed through his mind.

He still felt sick after his recent discoveries, and now the thought of Rick dying and leaving him trapped haunted him.

Morty reached up to dust the window in an effort to distract himself, and he noticed that the chains pulled down almost to his elbows, partly because of how much weight he’d lost and how much Rick had loosened them, but also because he had gotten some oil on his forearms by accident. 

He stared at the cuffs curiously, the beginnings of an idea stirring in his mind. He almost didn’t dare to think it, afraid that Rick would come crashing through the door and punish him for those thoughts. Morty looked fearfully over his shoulder and listened to confirm that he was still alone in the house.

Slowly, and with bated breath, Morty turned away from the window and shimmied the cuffs down until they rested on his wrists. He grabbed the left cuff and pushed it down until it hit the joint at the base of his thumb. Morty bit his lip and pushed harder, wincing where the metal scraped his skin.

Aided by the oil, the cuff popped off, leaving his wrist free.

Morty stared in disbelief at his bare wrist and at the cuff in his other hand. He almost couldn’t reconcile the fact that they were two separate entities now.

The panic hit him almost immediately. That was a mistake. He was making a mistake. How would Rick feel when he came home and saw this mess Morty had made? It wasn’t too late to fix it. He could just pop the cuff back on and pretend it never happened.

His earlier thoughts came floating back to the forefront of his mind.

_What if I never get another chance?_

He forced himself to remember the absolute disgust he had felt the first time Rick had touched him. He forced himself to think of all the times Rick had fucked him so hard he bled. He made himself think of recent times, when Rick was careful and…almost loving. Morty wanted to believe that the sudden shift in behavior was because Rick had grown to love him, and maybe part of that was true, but the bigger reason was that Morty had stopped fighting, and Rick knew it.

_He’s not a bad guy…_

Morty slammed his fist into the floor in anger. He had no idea what the hell he was supposed to think or feel or do. In a matter of days, his entire world had fallen apart.

Rick had to care. He just had to care. He had to love Morty because, in a fucked up way, Morty had grown to love him. No, love wasn’t the right word, not exactly. But Morty didn’t want any harm to come to Rick. He wanted to keep Rick happy, he wanted Rick to be proud of him. If he kept going on the path he was currently on, he wouldn’t be making Rick happy at all.

Morty thought of all the kind things Rick had ever done for him. The ice cream, the adventures, the T.V., the food, the chores to keep him busy, the chains he loosened for him, the shift in sex…

Morty miserably threw his head into his hands. He was just contradicting himself now.

He didn’t know what to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, he tossed and turned fitfully on the mattress, unable to fall asleep. The left cuff still hung from the wall, empty, and Morty traced patterns into his skin with his right hand. He had to decide, and quickly. He had no idea when Rick would come back.

What if the next time Rick left him alone didn’t happen for another few months? Rick’s erratic schedule had absolutely no structure. He could go anywhere at any time. Morty didn’t know when he’d have this chance again.

Morty thought of the flyer, its edges curled up from age, and he screwed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to picture that anymore. He didn’t want to imagine his old Rick pinning that flyer to the board. He didn’t want to imagine the thoughts going through that Rick’s mind.

If his old Rick had posted the flyer, that must mean he wanted Morty back, right? No matter what Morty looked like. Morty really hoped so.

He desperately wanted to forget what he had seen, wanted to keep going on adventures with Rick and maintain their precarious balance, but he wasn’t sure he could.  

Just then, another horrifying thought came to him. What if this was just another test, like the three Ricks in suits that had visited a while ago? What if Rick was testing him to see if he’d truly learned? What if Rick sat outside the house at that very moment, watching from his car, waiting for the moment Morty failed?

Morty stared at the loose cuff dangling from the wall and his heart sank. If this was a test, then he’d already failed. He thought of the wall incident and panicked. If this _was_ a test, Morty already knew what the punishment for failing would be.

Did he really want to stay in this room until he died? Was the shame of facing his family and the fear of punishment really worse than staying with Rick forever?

Morty looked out the window at the artificial sky, imagining his old Rick doing the same, and he cried. He was so afraid. He had no idea he should do or what the right decision was.

He wiped an arm across his eyes and saw himself in the T.V.’s screen, his wretched reflection mocking his inability to decide. It should be an easy decision, right? Stay or go? It shouldn’t be so hard to pick. Morty hated himself so much in that moment, hated his weakness and his pathetic face with its kicked-dog expression, hated his weak legs that couldn’t even carry him for a block before shaking with exhaustion. He hated his tissue paper wrists and his long, scraggly hair. He hated everything about himself.

Suddenly, emotions overwhelming him, Morty grabbed the bucket and threw it at the T.V. as hard as he could, shattering the screen. His heart pumped wildly, powered by the sudden adrenaline rush that coursed through his veins. He scrambled to his feet and stared at the glass shards littering the floor, his chest heaving, ears roaring.

Without consciously deciding anything, his body spurred him into action.

Morty seized the right cuff and yanked it down, slathering more oil onto his hand until the cuff fell with a loud clank.

He couldn’t believe that he was standing there, free, for the first time in over a year, but he didn’t have time to appreciate the moment. Now that he had started, he had to finish.

No longer thinking, and instead running on pure adrenaline, Morty ran to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked.

_A lock is only as strong as the wood around it_ , he thought, remembering a movie he’d watched a long time ago.

Morty stepped back and aimed a kick to the area next to the lock.

Nothing happened.

He tried harder but the wood barely splintered, and he was already out of breath.

That wasn’t going to work. He swept his eyes around the room, looking for something that could help.

Bed. Blanket. Cloth. Bucket.

_The bucket!  
_

Morty held it with both hands and slammed the bottom of the bucket against the place he’d been kicking. The bucket’s edge dug painfully into his palms but he didn’t give up, smashing it over and over against the door until, finally, it broke through. Morty stuffed his hand through the small hole and frantically unlocked the door from the other side.

He turned the doorknob and it opened. He had actually done something right. This was really working!

Morty ran into the hallway and immediately located the stairs.

When he got to the front door, he twisted the locks this way and that, but the door refused to open.

“Come on, come on,” Morty said anxiously, panicking in his desperation to get out of the house. There was no way he’d gone through all of that only to be stopped by the front door. He spotted a keypad next to the door and cursed.

There were windows, but if Rick had installed a coded keypad, there was no telling what else he’d armored the house with. If Morty broke a window to escape, the system might notify Rick, and with his portal gun he’d be there before Morty got one foot out of the house.

Morty looked around the room and noticed Rick’s cluttered living room table. He rifled through the different instruments, searching for something that could help him get the hell out of there, but he quickly realized he couldn’t tell what any of them did, and he was scared to use them in case he accidentally set off alarms.

Morty was running out of time. It was day four, which meant that either Rick was dead or he was on his way back and could open the door at any minute. Neither of those options were good if Morty couldn’t get out of there. He had to do _something_ , fast.

He gave up on the table and looked around the rest of the living room, but didn’t see any potential exits. The windows invitingly showed him the front lawn of the house, but they were just too risky.

Morty scrambled back up the stairs and looked through the rest of the house, his heart pounding so loudly in his ears that it blocked out all other noise. If Rick came back now, Morty was as good as dead.

He passed his room, which stood hauntingly empty and almost eerie from his new angle of standing outside looking in. Uncomfortable, he closed the door and threw open the next one, which ended up being a bathroom. He was about to move on when he noticed something.

The shower curtain.

_“The curtain is see-through, dumbass. Don’t touch the blindfold,”_ Rick had told him so long ago, and like an idiot, Morty had believed him without question.

Frustrated, angry, and on the verge of tears at how he’d allowed himself to be so manipulated, Morty tore his eyes from the opaque curtain and tried the last door at the end of the hall. It was unmistakably Rick’s bedroom.

Morty stepped inside, goosebumps erupting on his skin. Blueprints and half-finished designs covered the walls and random machine parts were strewn across every other surface.

At the far end of the room, there was a sliding glass door.

A balcony!

Morty ran across the space, almost tripping over his own feet. If this didn’t work, Morty decided he’d break a window downstairs. He didn’t have time to think of a better plan. He’d just have to take the chance of potential alarms.

Morty grabbed the handle and pulled.

The door slid open. A blast of warm air caressed Morty’s face.

He stepped onto the balcony, in awe. He almost couldn’t believe that he was finally outside.

But he couldn’t let his guard down, not until he’d run so far from the house that he couldn’t see it anymore.

He looked down from the second floor and gulped. Morty always hated heights, but there was no other option now except for jump. If Rick came and saw a rope dangling from the balcony, he’d knew immediately what Morty had done, and Morty wanted to buy himself as much extra time as possible.

He climbed over the edge of the balustrade and let himself hang over the edge, gripping the railings for dear life. A drop from that height wouldn’t kill him, but Morty’s mind was nowhere near rational at that moment. He was afraid his legs would crumple up into his stomach and that he’d bleed to death, or—

_Stop_ , he begged himself. He didn’t want to think about each and every possible terrible outcome. He didn’t have time.

Morty closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and willed himself to let go.

He landed hard on the concrete below and pain exploded up his leg.

“Fuck!” he cried, gingerly putting weight on his ankle. It didn’t feel broken, but he could barely walk, let alone run. Oh god, this wasn’t good. He was sure that once the adrenaline wore off it would hurt even worse.

He clenched his fists and held his breath in an effort to slow down his heart rate. There was no way he just jumped from a two-story balcony only to give up now.

Morty limped as fast as he could, grit his teeth against the pain, and headed for the cover of the trees surrounding the house.


	9. Chapter 9

Morty only walked for a couple minutes before he had to stop for a break because of his ankle. He leaned against a tree, taking in the warmth of the sun that filtered in through the treetop canopy.

His ankle was hot to the touch and pulsed in time with his heart beat, which he knew wasn’t a good sign, but he had no other choice except to keep going.

Suddenly, in the time it took him to blink, he found himself somewhere else. The sky above him turned a pale purple and unfamiliar, jagged mountains surrounded him.

“What the fuck?” he whispered. Where was he? What had just happened? One minute he was in the forest, and then somehow he’d ended up there.

Morty tentatively took one step backward, looking behind him. With a shock, he realized he couldn’t see the back half of himself.

He turned around all the way and saw the same forest as before in front of him. He spun back around and saw the mountains.

The pieces started falling into place.

They weren’t on Earth, Morty knew that for a fact now. Rick had put some sort of bubble around the house so that it looked like they were somewhere else. That explained why the clouds in the sky never seemed to change.

Morty backed away from the forest. As exposed as he felt in the openness of this Grand Canyon-like place, he knew the forest was worse. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the house as he could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The forest had been pleasantly warm, but the world outside the bubble was cold. Really cold. Morty became acutely aware of the fact that he was naked except for his pathetic, tattered shorts. Barefoot and shirtless, he wasn’t sure how long he could survive out there.

He tried to remember the three things people needed to survive in the wild. Shelter, that was the most important one. Shelter and water. The third thing must be food.

Surrounded by rocks and dirt, Morty didn’t feel confident that he’d be able to find any of those things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty ripped off a branch from a dried tree to use a cane. It made walking a little bit easier, but he still needed to stop for breaks so often that he wasn’t sure he’d gone very far. The air was steadily getting colder and his feet were practically numb. He tore the legs off his shorts and wrapped them around his feet, but that hardly helped. Morty feared he wasn’t going to make it, that he came all this way just to freeze to death, but he couldn’t let himself think those thoughts.

After several minutes, in the dimming light, Morty saw a dark spot some distance away. Renewed with hope, he limped faster towards it. It was a tiny cave semi-hidden under some dry brush, but it would do as a temporary shelter. Morty crawled inside and curled in on himself, shivering against the cold rock and sneezing when he breathed in the dust.

The planet was so dry and barren. Morty figured that was why Rick always had to go off-planet for food. He hadn’t seen a green tree or a stream anywhere.

What was he supposed to do now?

Fleetingly, he thought of going back to the house and begging for forgiveness, but he banished the idea quickly. Morty had only been outside for a few hours and already he was ready to give up and crawl back to Rick, tail between his legs like a pathetic dog? No, he had made up his mind to escape, and he was going to commit to that, even if it killed him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When morning came and Morty opened his eyes, a part of him was surprised that he was still alive. He was definitely worse for wear, much weaker than yesterday, and his ankle was badly swollen, but he was still alive.

The night had been freezing cold, but the air around him inside the cave was a few degrees warmer with his body heat. He debated between staying there and continuing forward, but ultimately he decided to leave. He wasn’t guaranteed to find another shelter, but staying in one place was even more dangerous. Morty didn’t know if Rick had discovered he was gone, but if he had, then it was all the more important to keep moving.

Morty licked his dry, cracked lips and wished he had thought to take a water bottle with him. He was so, so thirsty. He racked his brain for survival tips and remembered reading that stones were good to suck on when there was no water. Morty had no idea whether that would work, but he had nothing left to lose. He picked up a smooth, rounded stone and wiped it off on his shorts before popping it into his mouth. Sighing, he grabbed his makeshift cane and trudged forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Periodically Morty would find a few strands of grass poking out from the cracks in the rock and shove them eagerly into his mouth, desperate to quiet his hunger pains. By his count, he had been wandering around for four days, though ‘wandering’ was a bit of an overstatement. Mostly, he’d been passing the hours in another small, narrow cave he’d found, absolutely exhausted. His sleep was tortured and broken, interrupted by the painful growling of his stomach and the dryness of his throat.

Morty didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t been able to find water anywhere and he was starting to doubt that it even existed on this wasteland of a planet. Maybe that was the reason Rick had chosen this planet, to guarantee that Morty could never truly escape.

Morty curled into a ball with his back to the entrance of his cave and shivered. He didn’t want to die, and a tiny part of him still held out hope that he wouldn’t, but subconsciously he had already accepted that he wasn’t getting out of there. He’d been okay yesterday morning, but without water, his condition had deteriorated rapidly. Morty suspected that the only reason he was still alive was because of that serum Rick had injected into him. Maybe it helped with water conservation or something. Ultimately, it didn’t really matter.

He hated that dry, freezing planet and he hated Rick for bringing him there, but most of all he missed the safety of the house. Morty loathed that he had come to consider that house a home, but he couldn’t fool himself by saying otherwise. He wondered if Rick was looking for him. He probably was, and he’d probably find him after Morty was already dead.

Never did Morty imagine that he’d die like this, alone in some cave on a desolate planet in a dusty corner of the universe.

Exhaustion weighed him down and Morty gave in to it, letting his eyelids droop over his tired eyes. He was so sleepy, he just wanted to rest.

There was a faint crackling behind him and Morty twitched awake, pausing to collect his strength before forcing his body into a sitting position, his back against the wall. His head brushed the ceiling so he crouched lower down. When the sound of an engine permeated the air, Morty knew it was over.

Rick had found him. It was all over now. All of that, everything Morty had done, it had all been for nothing. He couldn’t even die on his own terms, free from Rick. He couldn’t even do that much. Now Rick had him cornered and Morty would never get another chance like this again because Rick would kill him himself. Or worse, Rick would strap him back to the wall and leave him there until his heart gave out.

Morty shuddered and clutched his cane tighter, holding it in front of him like a gun. Maybe if he stayed quiet, Rick wouldn’t find him. His heart fluttered weakly against his chest as he waited, listening intently for the sound of footsteps.

Rick walked back and forth a few feet away from the low entrance of the cave. Because of the angle of the rock, Morty couldn’t see him, but it couldn’t be anyone else but Rick. He came a little closer and Morty inhaled quickly in shock. The footsteps stopped, as if Rick was waiting too. What was he waiting for? Clearly he knew Morty was in there. Morty knew he didn’t have the strength to fight, but held the stick up anyway, even if it did shake slightly.

“Morty?” Rick asked.

Morty didn’t say anything, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. This was it then. Everything he’d ever done, everything he could have been, everything he wanted to do amounted to this moment. Cornered in a cave, dehydrated, on the verge of death. Trapped by the one person he was running away from. He supposed that was as good a testimony to his life as anything. Always a failure, even at the very end.

“Morty?” Rick asked again. Why the hell did he sound so unsure? Morty held the stick tighter, ignoring the way it trembled in his hands.

“Is that you?” Rick insisted, crouching down low so he could look inside the cave. Morty backed away, pressing himself against the far end of the short cave.

“I-if you come any closer, I’ll—I’ll kill you, Rick,” Morty whispered hoarsely, his sandpaper tongue making it hard to speak. He knew Rick heard him because he stopped rustling through the dead brush covering the mouth of the hole. He just hoped Rick didn’t call his bluff.

“Morty, oh god—” Rick frantically shoved fistfuls of dry branches away so he could see into the cave. He reached out and grabbed Morty around the ankle, the ankle he couldn’t tuck under himself because it hurt too much. Rick pulled hard, dragging him out of the cave. Morty screamed in agony, begging Rick to stop, but he didn’t stop until Morty was fully outside. Then Rick pulled him into a hug so tight it almost crushed his lungs.

Morty couldn’t believe he had failed so badly and ended up right where he had begun. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t realize he’d started crying until he felt the wetness on his cheeks.

“I-I’ve been looking for you for so long,” Rick said in a low voice, his voice muffled in Morty’s hair.

“I’m s-sorry Rick, I-I’m sorry,” Morty choked out, pressing his face into Rick’s lab coat. Better to steal the few gentle moments he had left before Rick killed him. Morty balled his fists in the fabric of Rick’s shirt and cried harder, mourning everything he’d lost and everything he was going to lose.

When Rick let go, Morty gently cradled his pulsating ankle and furiously wiped the tears off his face, hating that he was so weak, that he was crying in front of Rick. His leg just hurt so fucking badly.

Rick kept staring at Morty like he was trying to figure out what hurt. It unnerved him. He wanted Rick to stop looking at him like that. He wanted things to go back to how they were last week. He regretted escaping the house because, now that he gotten caught, he realized it wasn’t worth it.

Morty wished he was dead so that Rick could never hurt him again, even though he deserved it for being so ungrateful. He wished he had died before Rick found him, he wished he had died months ago when he was strapped to that wall, he wished he had never lived at all. After having tasted freedom for four brief days, he wished he could have it forever, but he knew that in Rick’s world, that just wasn’t possible. He grieved for his life, cut so short, and more tears spilled down his dust-covered cheeks.

Rick apparently finished his examination because he fished through his pockets and pulled out a gun, aiming it at Morty’s leg. Morty shut his eyes, bowing his head over his knee so that Rick standing over him like that wasn’t the last thing he’d have to see before he died.

Morty heard Rick pull the trigger, and in those last moments Morty had left he pulled up an image of his family in his mind. He knew he’d never been close to them, but they were still his family, and now they’d never know what happened to him.

_Click._

Morty steeled himself, but instead of feeling pain, he felt a cooling sensation around his ankle. Tentatively, he opened his eyes and saw a blue glow surrounding it. A moment later, it dissipated. Morty gently moved his leg and realized it didn’t hurt anymore. That wasn’t the laser gun he realized, it was the portable healing gun. But why would Rick bother using it if he was just planning to kill him?

Unless Rick didn’t want to kill him, not yet anyway. He probably wanted to torture Morty first for disobeying him. Morty shivered in fear at what awaited him back at the house. He was positive it would be ten times worse than being tied up to the wall.

“Rick, d-don’t,” Morty begged coarsely. “Please, just l-let me die.”

Rick gave him a strange, tortured look. “Morty, I’ve been looking for you. I-I need to get you home. You’re severely dehydrated and I don’t know what else. I need to do an exam.”

“I don’t want to go back there, p-please. Please Rick, I can’t—I can’t take any more. I really—”

Morty couldn’t choke out any more words, and instead started crying all over again. He didn’t know he had enough water left in his body to cry, but they came nonetheless. Rick looked at him with pity and bent down to help him up. They headed back to the house.

“No, n-no,” Morty begged, pushing weakly against Rick’s chest, but it was pointless. They were going back to the house and that was that. He closed his eyes and pushed his fists against them until he saw stars. He had no idea what was going to happen once they got back, but he was terrified. He had no doubt that Rick was going to nurse him back to health before torturing him so that he wouldn’t die prematurely. Morty shivered at the thought and Rick gripped him tighter.

“Almost there,” Rick murmured. Morty twitched at those words, the fear making him lightheaded and dizzy.

After a few minutes, they stopped. Why did they stop? Morty knew they weren’t at the house yet; he could still feel the bite of the cold air.

He felt Rick settle him into a seat and opened his eyes to see that he was sitting in the space car. Rick walked around to the other side and got in, starting the engine.

Oh no, this was bad. This meant they’d get back to the house sooner, which meant Morty’s torture would begin sooner.

But Rick didn’t fly towards the house. He flew up towards the sky, driving in the opposite direction.

It dawned on Morty that Rick was going off-planet, and the thought made him feel ill. He didn’t know which place Rick was driving to, but he had no doubt that it was someplace awful. Probably some place with such advanced technology that Rick could kill him and bring him back to life over and over for the rest of eternity. He swallowed against the nausea growing in the pit of his stomach and pretended not to notice the way Rick kept sneaking glances at him, as if he making sure that Morty was still there. It just made him feel sicker.

“W-where are we going?” he asked in a small voice, half of him not even wanting to know the answer. If he knew which planet, maybe he could quell the disturbing thoughts flying high-speed through his mind.

“We’re going home,” Rick said, slightly confused. Morty didn’t know what to say to that. _Home_ was back on the Grand Canyon planet. He had no idea what the hell Rick was talking about, but he didn’t dare ask another question in case it made Rick angry.

After a couple hours, Rick started slowing down the car and Morty’s heart rate picked up again. He looked out the window to see where they were and had to do a double take.

“No,” he whispered. “This is impossible.”

“What is?” Rick asked, parking the car.

They were parked in the driveway of his old house.

A dam burst inside of Morty’s heart and suddenly he was overwhelmed with emotion. How could Rick do this? Of all the terrible things, he had never imagined this. He had _never_ imagined something like this. All of his ideas, no matter how horrible, always centered around the two of them, alone. Morty never thought Rick would bring him to another version of his old home to torture him. It almost felt too cruel.

“I-Is this your idea of a-a joke?” Morty asked, getting out of the car and quickly backing away. “Why here? Y-You know what you’ve done. You _know_ ,” he shouted, the tears coming hot and fast while he stood there, pointing a finger accusingly at Rick. “I can’t do this, not here. Anywhere but here, please Rick,” he sobbed, falling to his knees in the garage.

“Morty, j-just calm down, okay? You’re in shock. You’re _home_ , Morty, in your home dimension.”

Morty’s head swam and he held it in both hands. “W-What are you _talking_ about? My home dimension is C—C-124.”

“That’s where we are,” Rick said, looking increasingly confused. “Morty, where do you think we are right now?”

Morty looked around wildly. He couldn’t believe the details were so real, but he supposed they should be real. After all, a version of his family must have lived here at some point. Maybe they still lived here, forgotten. Maybe they were the only ones left on the whole planet.

He’d never been so overwhelmed in his life.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” he cried, clutching his aching head. He was so tired. The edges of his vision tinged black and he struggled to stay conscious.

“Morty, sit down. Can you just—here, sit down,” Rick said, pushing Morty into the chair by the work bench. Morty fell heavily onto it. Rick set to work around him, pulling different vials off the shelves and mixing something together in a test tube. He poured the glowing orange contents of the test tube into a syringe and held it up for Morty to see.

“This is gonna make you feel better,” he said, poising it over Morty’s arm.

“W-wait,” Morty said, looking Rick directly in the eyes this time. Rick looked worried and as exhausted as Morty felt. There were dark circles under his eyes and his spiky hair was more disheveled than usual. Morty didn’t understand why Rick looked so stressed. He’d only been in the canyon for four days, right? Right?

“Morty, I promise. You’ll feel better if you let me use this.”

If he _let_ Rick use it? Morty knew he had no real choice. Confused, exhausted, and drained, he gave up and held out his arm. Rick quickly injected the serum and the urge to sleep slammed him full-force. His head slumped to the workbench and the last thing he felt was Rick’s arms underneath him, carrying him somewhere.


	10. Chapter 10

Morty woke up slowly, swaddled in blankets and more comfortable than he had been in a long time. He felt surprisingly good, like all of his cuts and bruises had magically disappeared overnight.

Where was he? The last thing he remembered was lying in the cave, dying of thirst. His throat ached as if remembering the pain of dehydration.

He bolted upright in the bed when he recognized his old room, and everything from yesterday came rushing back to him at once.

“No. No, no, no,” Morty said, scrambling out of the bed. No, he couldn’t be in his room. He just couldn’t be. He had to go somewhere else. It hurt more being there. Back in the other house, he’d been able to bury all the old, painful memories. It was how he survived. Here, he couldn’t do that, not if his old life was staring him in the face. He wouldn’t be able to survive. He had to get out of there as soon as possible.

Morty ran to the door and miraculously found it unlocked. He pounded down the stairs, not caring if he made a lot of noise, but tripped on the last step. Before he could get up, he heard a voice behind him.

“Feeling better?”

Morty twitched at the sudden noise and whirled around to see Rick coming out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

_Feeling better?_

His vision blurred and he saw Rick wiping his face after he had thrown up. He felt Rick push him facedown into the bed. He felt tainted, and now, surrounded by his old home and his old life, that disgust poured into the memories he had buried, the ones he had managed to keep unsullied. He couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t do this.

“Please let’s go back,” Morty begged from the floor, not bothering to get up. “I’ll do anything, I promise. I k-know you don’t believe me, but I-I promise Rick, please.”

Morty kept his eyes on the carpet, waiting desperately to hear Rick’s response.

Rick sighed. “Come on Morty, let’s go to the garage.”

Rick walked through the doorway and, after a pause, Morty followed tearfully.

When Morty got to the garage, he saw Rick standing in front of the space car, pointing at a dent by the headlights.

“D’you remember this?” he asked. “When I was teaching you to fly this thing, you lost control of the car and crashed into the utility pole outside, the one right outside the house.”

Morty stared at the small dent, then turned back to Rick, shaking his head.

“I—I don’t understand.”

“M-Morty, I’m telling you you’re _home_.”

Home.

Morty had spent so long burying the thoughts of anything and everything that could hurt him that those thoughts felt alien to him now. Home was C-124, it was his mother’s waffles and his sister’s incessant complaints. It was adventures with Rick and fights between his parents.

But for the last year and a half, home had become a bleached white room and a thin, lumpy mattress.

He had long abandoned hope that Rick, his original Rick, would come looking for him. At first, it had been the flame that kept him going, but over time, that fire had dimmed and his new Rick slowly took over his life. As the months trailed by, Morty had come to think of himself and his new Rick as the only two people left in the world, so isolated had he been from everything else.

Now, this Rick, the one standing in front of him, challenged everything he had come to accept as true. This Rick couldn’t be his own. This had to be another elaborate test meant to break Morty down further. Well, Morty wouldn’t fall for it again. After failing to escape twice, he convinced himself that life was better with Rick and that he wouldn’t try it again.

“C-come on Rick, it’s a funny joke, alright? Y-you’re really smart for putting all this together. Can we j-just go home now? I-I’ll be good, I swear.”

Rick tried to keep a neutral expression, but Morty saw the way his face crumbled just a little. He didn’t understand why Rick was acting like that. As far as elaborate schemes went, sure this one was very detailed, but Morty saw through it. Was Rick gaslighting him? He already accepted Rick as his whole world, and he wanted to go home with him. What more could Rick want?

Rick crossed the distance between them and pulled Morty into another tight hug. Morty pressed his face against his solid, comforting shape and let out a shaky breath. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t, but he let himself be reassured by the fact that Rick loved him.

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Morty couldn’t settle into the rhythm of this place. It had been a week since he’d come back, but he still couldn’t sleep or eat, and could barely cough out a few words whenever Rick asked him a question. He had no idea where the Beth, Jerry, and Summer of this house were, but he suspected that maybe Rick had sent them away somewhere.

Morty forced himself down the stairs to the refrigerator. He had no appetite most of the time, but still choked down a few mouthfuls of food here and there out of necessity.

He rifled through the containers in the fridge, opening lids and closing them again, looking for something that wouldn’t upset his stomach. He pulled out a metal tray and peeled back the foil cover to see what was inside.

Lasagna.

He gasped and dropped the container, backing away from the fridge.

Rick rushed into the kitchen, grabbing to doorframe to keep himself from tripping in his haste. “What was that noise? Are you okay?”

Morty grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter to steady himself. He couldn’t breathe. He gulped the air in frantic lungfuls but he still felt like he was suffocating.

The tray shouldn’t have elicited the response it did, but Morty felt like his realities were blurring. Half the time he wasn’t even sure he was back in his home dimension, and seeing things like that tray felt like subliminal messaging directed at him by Rick to break him down.

“Morty, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” Rick took a step closer and Morty’s heart almost leaped out of his chest.

“I’m sorry Rick, I-I-I didn’t mean to drop it! Please don’t be mad,” he begged.

“I’m not mad Morty, I’m not mad,” Rick promised, kneeling down to clean up the mess. Morty waited hesitantly for a minute to see if Rick would say anything else, and when he didn’t, Morty crept away and climbed up the stairs. For a while, he watched Rick through the banister, waiting for the inevitable moment Rick broke character. If Morty caught him in the act, maybe he could go back to the Grand Canyon planet.

But Rick just cleaned, bent over on his hands and knees. Morty watched him scoop the ruined food into the tin container before tossing it all in trash. He watched as Rick took the sponge from by the sink and wiped the residue off the floor. He watched Rick stand up, stretch his shoulders, and leave the kitchen.

There was nothing Morty could catch out of character. He didn’t understand. Rick would never do all that without a single sarcastic remark. When had Rick gotten so good at mind games like that? Did he secretly know that Morty was watching him from the staircase?

That must have been it. Rick knew he was being watched so he kept up the charade. Next time, Morty had to be more careful not to be seen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 “You need to eat something,” Rick said, leaning against the bedroom doorway. He looked worried, but also like he was trying to be nonchalant for Morty’s sake. It wasn’t working.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I know, but you should eat.”

“Later.”

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The days passed in a blur and Morty stopped keeping track because there was no point. He floated from room to room, feeling like a ghost, sometimes taking a granola bar from the kitchen to keep Rick off his back, but all of it felt unreal. He looked at the empty rooms and felt like a trespasser.

He was throwing away the empty granola bar box one day when Rick walked in from the garage. Morty tentatively stepped away, suddenly unsure of himself. He didn’t know how to act around Rick anymore. Was Rick just biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment when Morty had finally let his guard down?

Rick looked over him once and walked to the coffee machine. Morty silently watched him make coffee. It was almost surreal, watching Rick do something as mundane as making coffee. He’d never seen Rick act so…normal before.

He missed Rick’s attention. Since coming to this fake dimension, Rick hadn’t taken him on any adventures, probably to make the whole test look convincing, but Morty missed it. Maybe if he made it clear to Rick that he knew it was a test and accepted it, Rick would take him back home.

“Rick, c-can we go somewhere? Can I-I come with you on a delivery?”

Rick paused, keeping his eyes on the coffee maker. “What delivery?”

“I-I dunno…maybe to the Citadel…or—or something?” Morty chewed his lip, praying that Rick would see what he’s hinting.

This time Rick turned to face him. “I’ve never taken you to the Citadel,” he said, one eyebrow arched. He looked like he wanted to ask more questions, and Morty silently marveled at how good of an actor he was.

Morty lowered his eyes. So Rick still wanted to punish him. Morty deserved it. He’d been terrible and ungrateful and he deserved all of it.

“Ok, s-sorry,” Morty whispered morosely, getting up and trudging up the stairs to his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty was attention-starved. He spent the days in his room, yearning for Rick to come up and visit him like he used to. He missed the way Rick stroked his hair and rubbed his back. He missed the way Rick’s eyes lit up when Morty did something right. Back at the other house, Morty knew exactly what Rick liked and how he wanted Morty to behave. But on this fake planet, Morty didn’t know what Rick expected of him. He had no idea, and that threw him off. He wanted things to go back to normal. Morty hated the endless days he spent in this replica house. He yearned to go back.

Sometimes he saw Rick in other parts of the house and his chest ached. He wanted Rick to acknowledge him. He didn’t want all the space he was getting. He didn’t know what to do with it. It was easier when Rick decided everything for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Rick, c-can—can you sleep in my room tonight?” Morty asked, picking anxiously at his skin on his wrists.

He’d caught Rick sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels on the interdimensional cable, and decided on an impulse to ask. Morty couldn’t take the silence anymore. He needed Rick to say something to him.

“I can’t. Y-you destroyed the sleeping bag, remember?” Rick said, one arm sprawled lazily over the back of the couch, long legs kicked up on the coffee table. Morty clenched and unclenched his fists; he wanted nothing more than to tuck himself into Rick’s side and beg for him to act normally again, like he used to.

“W-what?” Morty asked, blanking. When had that happened?

“You spilled concentrated sulfuric acid on it two years ago.”

Morty’s heart sank; Rick was still playing the game.

“Rick, please,” he begged, his feet carrying him to the couch. Before he realized what he was doing, Morty sat down next to Rick, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “I-I’m sorry. I swear I am, I won’t ever try to leave again. Y-You can believe me Rick, please. I just want things to go back to how they w-were. I miss you.” Tears welled up in his eyes and he buried his face in Rick’s stomach, wrapping his arms around Rick’s waist.

After a pause, Rick put his hand on top of Morty’s head and smoothed his hair back while Morty soaked the lab coat with his tears.

Morty’s heart hurt terribly in his chest. He’d never wanted anything as bad as Rick to act normally again.

“Rick,” he pled, lifting his head to look at him. Something desperate washed over him and he grabbed Rick’s face with his hands, dragging his face down towards his.

“Woah, Morty, w-what the fuck—” Rick balked, holding Morty’s wrists in his hands and pushing him away. “We’re not doing this right now.”

Morty sagged under the touch, all traces of his bravado immediately melting away. “I-I’m sorry, Rick. I don’t know what you want me to do. Please—please just tell me.”

Rick’s gaze softened and he released Morty’s arms. “I just want you believe that you’re really home. I promise you, baby, this isn’t a trick.”

Morty closed his eyes at the endearment and hung his head. He felt like a crazed animal, finally soothed by his owner.

He wanted Rick back, the way he used to be at the other house. He didn’t understand why Rick was being so stubborn. The trick wasn’t even that good because Morty had already figured out that it was all a game.

He pushed himself off the couch and lingered in front of Rick, waiting for something, anything. Rick shot him a pitying glance and in that moment Morty decided he’d rather get nothing at all. The pity was worse. He felt his face go hot with shame, and he turned on his heel and ran up the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty lay in bed for the rest of the day. When the sun went down, he lay in the dark. Downstairs, he heard Rick moving around the house, and part of him fervently hoped Rick would come up to his room, but that didn’t happen.

Morty turned his head to the clock by his bed and read the time.

2:13 a.m.

A framed picture of him and Rick sat by clock on his nightstand and Morty bitterly pushed it facedown. How did Rick have so much evidence from his old life? The photographs, the memories Rick constantly brought up, the history of the dent in the car…Morty didn’t know where Rick could have gotten that information, and that unsettled him. Those details were too specific.

He lay there for another ten minutes before a sudden onslaught of claustrophobia forced him out of the room.

When Morty heard the floorboards by his door creak, he knew Rick had gone to bed. He tiptoed downstairs and wandered aimlessly through the living room, wanting to do something but unsure of what exactly. His eyes trailed across the front door and he longingly thought of the fresh, crisp air on the other side of it, but he forced himself back. It wouldn’t do to make Rick think he was trying to escape again. That was the last thing he wanted. Besides, he didn’t want to escape Rick, not really, he just wanted some fresh air.

He found himself in front of a window by the kitchen, feeling like a ghost for the umpteenth time. Moonlight streamed in through the gossamer curtains and crickets chirped sleepily outside. Morty pushed the window open and sat in front of it, face pressed against the dirty screen, and he closed his eyes.

With his hand resting against the wall, he felt the crack in the plaster where Rick had thrown a less-than-pleasant visitor from another dimension so long ago. Then, before Morty could stop himself, the entire memory rushed into his mind all at once, nudging insistently at the barriers he had built in his brain until they collapsed.

Morty had just gotten home from school that day when he saw Rick and his lookalike battling it out in the kitchen. He hadn’t known what the argument was about and he hadn’t cared; it had been a long day at school and the last thing he wanted was family drama. Before anyone could see him, he’d snuck up to his room and played games on his computer late into the night.

Morty pulled back from the wall with a sharp breath and leaned his head into his hands. He couldn’t believe there was a time in his life where he worried about things as mundane as school and grades and fleeting crushes. He didn’t feel like he had ever lived a life like that.

A floorboard creaked behind him and he whipped around, senses on high alert.

“It’s just me,” a voice cut through the deafening silence. Rick.

“Hey,” Morty said, turning back and resting his chin on the windowsill, looking glumly at the still neighborhood outside. He wondered what the people in all the other houses dreamt about at night. Were there others who stayed awake all night like him, staring out the window and wondering about the lives of strangers?

“What are you thinking about?” Rick asked, sitting cross-legged next to him.

Morty ran his fingers over the cracked plaster again and sighed. “Just wondering how you got the details so right,” he said, venom creeping into his tone.

“Morty, I swear—”

“I-I’m sick of this, Rick! I’ve done everything y-you’ve said. I’ve apologized a-a hundred times and I don’t know what else I can do. What’s left?”

“I don’t—”

Looking at Rick’s tortured face, all of Morty’s energy drained out of him. There was no point arguing anymore, short-lived as it had been. No matter what Morty said, Rick was so stubborn that nothing would change until Rick decided it was time.

“Ah, never mind. I-I’m just telling you I’m not falling for this,” Morty said dully. “Do whatever you want Rick, I don’t care anymore.”

“Morty, I promise you that you’re home. I-I came here right now because I fucking missed you, not because th-there’s some ulterior motive I want you to believe! You’ve been gone for more than a year, Morty. How can you expect me to act like none of that happened?”

Morty shook his head. He was tired of the emotional rollercoaster he’d been put through this last week. He gave up; Rick won. Rick always won. Nothing mattered anymore because Rick had found him again. Morty was tired of the psychological games. He wished he was back in the other house, when his entire world had been reduced to a four-walled room, when things weren’t easy, but they were simple.

Now, nothing was simple.

“Morty, listen to me,” Rick said, a sudden urgency coloring his voice. Maybe he sensed the way Morty was withdrawing, Morty didn’t know, and he didn’t care either. “We all thought you were dead. I couldn’t track your brainwaves to any planet or dimension anywhere—it was like you’d just…disappeared completely! That could only happen if you were another Rick.”

Morty barely listened to the words, twisting the pale curtains through his hands.

“Morty, listen,” Rick repeated, turning Morty’s shoulder so that he’d face him. “ _Who were you with_?”

Morty kept his eyes trained on the buttons of Rick’s shirt. “I was with you.”

Rick clenched his jaw in agitation. “Tell me which dimension. Was it the one I found you in? Was that the only place you’d been?”

Morty nodded. Rick really was a convincing actor, but Morty supposed he had to be. If Rick couldn’t sell him on the point that he was really back home, then the effects wouldn’t be as good when Rick finally pulled the big reveal. Morty could almost hear it now, the way Rick would gloat that it had been him all along, the way he’d throw Morty into the ship and back into the white room. It was a beautiful plan really, in a twisted way. Morty picked sadly at the loose thread, wilting on the bench.

After some silence, Rick stood up.

“L-let’s go back to bed, it’s getting cold.”

Morty followed Rick back up the stairs and wordlessly stepped into his room, locking the door behind him.

He sat against the bed frame and stared at the carpet until the crickets stopped chirping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this chapter seems unorganized or like it keeps jumping from scene to scene that's because it supposed to. i'm trying to show the spectrum of morty's emotions through the structure of the paragraphs, just something i'm playing with. idk if it's actually working or what but i'm trying to improve my writing!!
> 
> as always thanks so much for reading! 
> 
> i read this chapter so many times to edit it that i got sick of it lololol so if yall see a typo lmk and i'll fix it! <3 <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of a 2 part chapter!

This time, Morty kept better track of time.

Part of it was because he never wanted to be caught off guard again, like in that terrible moment when he realized he’d been missing for over a year, but part of it was also because the days were so painfully slow and boring that he couldn’t wait for the end of each one.

It had been one month and four days.

Morty tried to distance himself from Rick as much as he could. It was just too painful to see Rick and know that he was still mad. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Unfortunately, Rick was on his mind all the time, anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Morty, you awake?” Rick called through the door. Morty jerked out of bed, his heart pounding. He almost couldn’t believe Rick was at his door. How long had he spent silently hoping that Rick would come? It was almost too good to be true, but Morty was so grateful that the day had finally come.

He ran to the door and threw it open with so much force that it bounced against the opposite wall.

“You’re energetic today,” Rick noted mildly.

“Y-Yes,” Morty said, his chest heaving with excitement. He tried to quiet his breaths to seem less obvious, but failed—he was just so happy. “What do you need?”

“Do you wanna help me with something? I could use a second set of hands.”

Rick finally needed him for something! Morty could hardly contain his excitement. At last, things were starting to look up for him.

“S-sure Rick, yeah,” he breathed, following Rick down the stairs and into the garage.

On the workbench sat a complicated looking machine that Morty could never hope to understand. Rick slipped on his goggles and handed a pair to Morty. “Put these on, the lasers get pretty bright.”

Morty shoved the goggles onto his face and sat down at the chair next to Rick’s.

“Ok, j-just hold these panels together while I connect them. If the light hurts your eyes, tell me right away, ok?” Morty nodded and scoot the chair closer so that he could reach the work bench. The panels he held were made of some iridescent glass-like material that transformed the sunlight around them into beautiful rainbows. Morty had never seen something so stunning. When Rick turned on his handheld laser to weld the two pieces together, Morty flinched at the brightness but quickly composed himself. He didn’t dare disappoint Rick, not when he was finally forgiving him.

“Good?” Rick paused, turning the laser off quickly.

“G-good,” Morty said, turning his attention back to the invention.

After an hour, Rick wheeled his chair back from the worktable and pushed the goggles up to his forehead.

“Done!” he said cheerfully, holding up the finished invention.

A small pyramid constructed entirely of that iridescent glass sat atop a rotating motor and spun slowly, projecting wonderful rainbow cascades onto the floor and walls.

“It’s beautiful,” Morty murmured, marveling at its otherworldliness. He was sure no material like that existed on earth.

“Here, it’s for you,” Rick said, holding it out to him.

Morty took it hesitantly, cradling it against his lap. Rick must have seen the questions written all over Morty’s face because he smiled.

“I noticed you’ve been leaving the lights on at night. Maybe this’ll help.” Rick stood up and shook out his arms, then ruffled Morty’s hair before stepping out the garage, leaving Morty alone with the pyramid.

Morty stared at the flickering device in his hands, then looked out the door where Rick had gone. He felt uneasy, like someone was going to jump from the shadows and yell “surprise!” or knock the device out of his hands and break it, or…something.

He waited and waited, but nothing happened.

He turned his eyes back to the pyramid. It spun soothingly, the small hum of the motor sending soft reverberations through his hands. He held it like a baby, gently, with care. Rick had never given him anything like that before.

Morty looked up and caught sight of the space car parked a few feet away. The dent by the headlight was still there. He remembered Rick’s words to him about it.

The details in the house, the memories, the gift, it messed with Morty’s reality. He didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know what to think.

He missed the other Rick and the other house, but he couldn’t deny that, in the beginning at least, he’d wanted to come back to his home dimension so desperately. Where was that motivation now? Morty had left the Grand Canyon planet for a reason. In that moment, he’d _wanted_ to leave, scared as he had been.

Now, could he really be _home_?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After settling the pyramid onto the nightstand in his room, Morty crept through the house and looked for Rick. He found him in his room, pouring over blueprints.

Morty swept his eyes around the room. None of the blueprints in there looked like the ones from the other house. In his mind, he began counting the ways this Rick was different.

_The blueprints. One._

_The behavior. Two._

_The memories. Three._

_The pyramid. Four._

A tiny thought gathering dust in the back of Morty’s mind, shoved aside and ignored, nudged insistently at him.

_Maybe he really is C-124._

Morty worked up the courage to ask a question.

“W-Where are Mom and—Beth and Jerry? And Summer?”

Rick spun around in his chair but didn’t seem surprised to see Morty standing there. “They’re staying in my apartment off-planet,” Rick said.

“Why?”

“I told them you needed time to adjust.” Rick bent down and picked up a loose blueprint from the floor. “They really miss you y’know, th-they ask about you every time they call.”

Morty chewed his lips, unsure of how to respond.

He didn’t want to let himself fall deeper into the trap, but being there in his house, seeing the photographs on the wall, made him miss his family so much. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about them for so long, but now, surrounded by reminders of them, they were all he could think about.

“What do I have to do to prove that you’re really home?” Rick asked. He hid it well, but Morty could just barely make out the desperation and worry hidden just underneath the surface of Rick’s calm façade.

Morty finally met Rick’s eyes and was almost shocked by the sincerity he saw there. He kept his own expression neutral.

“I-I don’t know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty lay curled under his blanket, thinking. Over the last few days, he’d thought of his parents and Summer every day. He ached to see them, but he was afraid. What if they weren’t really his parents? What if it was all some articulate lie? He just wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. It was like his reality had been flipped upside down and inside out, like he was expected to carry on as though everything was normal, even though it clearly wasn’t.

But one thing he hadn’t allowed himself to think about for a long time was C-124 Rick, not until now. Morty wasn’t sure if it was because he still didn’t know if this Rick was his original Rick or the new one, or if he subconsciously considered them one and the same, or if it was a combination of both. What he did know was that Rick made him feel some type of way, and it wasn’t all pleasant.

What was he supposed to do if every time he looked at this Rick, he was reminded of all those other terrible things? Even if this Rick _was_ his original, that didn’t change the fact that he looked exactly like the other Rick. Morty didn’t know how to reconcile that in his mind, or if he even could. And he really didn’t understand why he missed the other Rick. After everything, Morty should have been repulsed by him. But things had gotten so much better, especially towards the end. It hadn’t all been bad.

Morty turned over onto his back and let himself remember his original Rick, the one he’d known forever. Back then, they went on adventures all the time, and even though they were stupidly dangerous adventures, Rick always had his back. He never intentionally put Morty in harm’s way. Morty thought of all the times his Rick had proven that he cared. He thought of how nice Rick’s hand felt against his forehead, how soothing it felt when Rick played with his hair.

Morty remembered when he’d almost been shot by an alien’s laser gun. Rick pushed him out of the way just in the nick of time and took the hit himself. He almost bled out to death that day, but Morty had driven him to the hospital. He remembered feeling so relieved when the alien doctor told him Rick would be fine. Morty hadn’t left his bedside for a full week after that.

He threw back the covers, positive he wouldn’t be able to sleep now. There was something he needed to know, or else he’d never be able to move forward.

It was late at night, but Morty knew where Rick would be.

He stepped silently into the garage. Rick’s back was to him; he tinkered with something Morty couldn’t see.

He knocked on the wall to get Rick’s attention.

Morty could tell he’d startled him in the way that Rick’s back went ramrod straight before he turned around to face him.

“Is everything ok?” Rick asked, one leg already off the chair and ready to spring into action.

“Yes,” Morty said awkwardly. “I-I need you to—” He paused and took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I need you to take off your shirt.”

Whatever Rick was expecting Morty to say, it definitely wasn’t that. His eyes widened and he rolled himself back, away from the door.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rick said evenly.

“Please, I need to know,” Morty said, stepping closer. He could plainly see how uncomfortable Rick was, but he had to settle this once and for all.

“Morty…” Rick set down the screwdriver he’d been holding and scanned Morty’s face, as if trying to read Morty’s thoughts.

“ _Please_ ,” Morty insisted.

Rick sighed and Morty could see the exact moment he gave in. He slowly pulled off his lab coat and started unbuttoning his shirt. Morty averted his eyes, suddenly feeling like he was spying on something he shouldn’t be seeing. He wasn’t interested in making Rick feel self-conscious, but he had to know. He had to know for sure where he was.

Rick hesitated to take off his undershirt, but at Morty’s pleading look, he pulled it up over his head and then set his arms down, waiting, questions plastered on his face.

Morty looked at Rick’s bare collarbone. His eyes shifted down an inch where the laser gun’s ray should have pierced through Rick’s chest. He looked for the proof.

There, right where it was supposed to be, was a perfectly round scar.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the full effect I recommend rereading the last few sentences of the previous chapter before starting this one! :)

_The scar. Five._

The tears came before Morty could stop them, even though the rest of him had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to feel in that moment. His brain stopped working in those seconds after it hit him that this was _his Rick._

He had hoped for so long that Rick would rescue him from that awful place. When time went on and yielded nothing, Morty had eventually stifled those hopes. Now, his wishes had come true— Rick _had_ rescued him, and it was so obvious now that this Rick could never have been that other Rick. How could Morty not have seen this before?

He didn’t know what Rick could see on his face while he processed the truth. He didn’t know what Rick thought at all. He had felt disgusting for so long that he assumed that was what everyone else saw when they looked at him, too.

Morty wanted to throw himself into Rick’s arms and embrace him like nothing had changed. But he _had_ changed, and there was just no way around it. He may have wanted to hug Rick, but the self-preserving part of his brain, the part that recognized the other Rick in this Rick’s features, warned him to be careful, warned him to turn in the opposite direction and run. The less rational part of his brain reminded him how much he missed Rick, urged him to go for the hug anyway.

Morty wanted a hug, yes, but he was so scared that he would hate it. What if the moment Rick wrapped his arms around him, he panicked?

He didn’t know how to work through the fact that the other Rick looked just like this. He didn’t know how to behave around him anymore. Rationally, he knew that this Rick had never hurt him. But it was different when he was looking at Rick full on and seeing all the similarities.

What Morty didn’t want to admit, even to himself, was that he was scared he would never be able to integrate Rick back into his life. He was so scared that the past was gone forever, that he’d never have that relationship again, that it was unattainable now.

He didn’t know what to do.

“Morty?” Rick asked, breaking Morty out of his thoughts. He realized he’d been staring at Rick wordlessly, tears silently running down his face. Morty shook his head to clear it.

“You’re C-124,” Morty said lamely. The words hung heavily in the space between them.

Before he could overthink it, before he could overanalyze, Morty threw himself to Rick’s feet and wrapped his arms tightly around his legs, sobs racking through his chest. He was home, he was home.

Rick kneeled to Morty’s level and wrapped his arms around him.

“Rick, I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry I d-didn’t believe you,” Morty hiccupped, his breath hitching in his throat.

“I know, baby, I know. You’re home now. You’re safe.”

Rick rocked him back and forth, holding him tightly and not letting go, even after Morty calmed down, even after the sobs quieted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now that Morty had established in his head that he really was back home, he was gripped with an unrelenting fear that the Rick 929-Z was going to come after him. He tried to ignore the impeding sense of doom, rationalizing that there was no possible way 929-Z would find him, not when he was back with his original Rick. Wasn’t that the whole point? That it was harder to track a Morty if he was with a Rick?

Rick would protect him. He was safe here. He had to be safe here, because if he wasn’t, then he wasn’t safe anywhere, and Morty couldn’t deal with a reality like that.

But he didn’t feel anything here, at home. He waited and waited for the overwhelming relief that should have come to him by now, the release that was supposed to come when someone made it out of something they didn’t think they’d survive. Maybe it didn’t come because this place didn’t feel like home anymore. Maybe he was gone for so long that this place _couldn’t_ be home anymore. Morty didn’t want to feel like a ghost for the rest of his life. He needed this house to be different, and he needed to be different, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty got out of the shower, the air heavy with steam. He pushed the dripping hair out of his face and glanced at the toilet, grimacing. It was such a small thing, such a stupid thing to think about, but he missed having to use the bathroom. After everything, it was such an insignificant thought to have, such a mindless one, but it was a constant reminder of 929-Z. Morty still felt hollow when he thought about that Rick, like a piece of himself had chipped away when he left that house. Maybe he’d never get that piece back. Maybe he’d live like that forever, a part of him cut away in the shape of an empty room. Morty just wanted to be normal again, and the fact that he wasn’t was like a sharp thorn in his side. He wished he could ask Rick to reverse the effects of it somehow, but he was too ashamed to ask.

Morty looked at his blurry face through the fog and turned away bitterly. He hated seeing himself. It was like looking at a stranger. He didn’t look like himself, and he didn’t feel like himself anymore either, not really. He was just an empty thing walking around.

This wasn’t working. Morty felt like something fragile stuffed away in a museum. He had to try to act like himself again, and maybe if he kept faking it then eventually he would start to feel okay. That started with living in a normal house with other people.

Morty pulled on his clothes and left the bathroom to look for Rick. He found him in the kitchen, heating something up in the microwave. Rick looked up when Morty entered.

“What’s up?” Rick asked casually. Morty shrugged and picked at the bottom of his shirt.

“Rick…” he began. “I want to see them. Can they come back?”

Rick raised an eyebrow, no doubt trying to figure out where the sudden change in attitude was coming from.

“Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll go get them now.” He made to grab his portal gun from one of his pockets but Morty stopped him.

“N-no, finish what you’re doing,” he said over the sound of the microwave beeping. “I need some time t-to get ready so—so there’s no rush.”

Rick nodded and Morty rushed out of the kitchen before the conversation could stretch out any longer. He kept telling himself Rick wasn’t going to hurt him, that Rick wasn’t going to lock him up and punish him for escaping, but he felt strange being in the same room as him nonetheless. He hoped desperately that that horrible feeling would go away with time. Rick hadn’t done anything wrong and it was unfair that Morty was treating him this way, as if _he_ were the criminal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Morty couldn’t sleep, as usual. He huddled on the floor, leaning against his bedframe, trying to shut off his brain. His thoughts raced a thousand miles a minute and it drove him crazy. He just wanted to lie down and sleep, but the thoughts just wouldn’t stop. He tried counting backwards from 100, he tried thinking of random, unrelated things to distract himself, but none of his usual techniques were working.

He kept thinking about that room, and those chains, and Rick heavy on top of him. He slammed his head back against the wood of the bedframe. Maybe if he knocked himself out he could finally get some decent sleep. Morty turned his head towards the bed and screamed into the mattress. How could it be that he felt nothing, yet too much? How could he miss Rick 929-Z so terribly? How could he still somehow miss his own Rick if they were in the same house? Why couldn’t he go up to Rick and hug him, or even look at him, without feeling that horrible disgust deep in his stomach? Why did his Rick feel so far away?

The thoughts plagued him. He wanted to feel normal, he wanted everything to be normal, but it just _wasn’t_. It wasn’t, and the harder Morty tried, the faker everything felt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, Rick left to bring the others home. Morty paced nervously in the living room. His hair was brushed, his clothes clean, but he still felt like a mess. The dark circles under his eyes were permanent stains on his skin, evidence of his lack of sleep. His clothes hung loosely off his body and he kept fidgeting with them.

He feared his family would think he was disgusting. He missed them so much, but suddenly he wanted to back out. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing them. He wasn’t sure he could handle their rejection.

All too soon, Morty heard Rick park the car. He anxiously adjusted his shirt one more time and waited in the middle of the living room.

His mom came through the door first. She had been crying, he could tell.

“Morty?” she asked, her voice shaking. She reached out a trembling hand and touched his hair, as if she couldn’t believe he was standing there in front of her.

“Y-yea Mom, I’m here,” Morty said, not daring to look at her face, afraid of what he might see there. He kept his eyes trained on her shirt.

She wrapped her arms around him tightly and cried. In that second, Morty didn’t know what to do or how to feel. He should’ve been relieved, he should’ve felt happy. Why couldn’t he be happy? Instead, all he felt was stress. Hating himself for how he was, he tentatively returned the hug and listened to her sobs echo through his chest.

His dad hung in the doorway, looking as nervous as Morty felt. Before Beth let go, Summer barreled past Jerry and marched straight to him, squeezing the part of him she could reach through Beth’s arms. Her hug stifled Morty, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He let himself melt into the hug a little more, let himself feel the security she gave him through that one touch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was awkward at first. Everyone was on edge and no one knew quite how to act around Morty. They walked on eggshells around him, all except Summer. She was the only one who seemed to know what normal was, and her nonstop talk about school and Ethan and her friends was the only thing keeping Morty sane. He swelled with appreciation whenever she saw him walking around the house and asked him some mundane question, instead of acting like he had come back from the dead.

Morty thought it would help, having his family back at home, but he wasn’t sure that it was. He couldn’t blame them because he wasn’t sure how he would act either if he was in their position, but he didn’t know if he felt any better now that they were back. Given the choice though, he’d choose to have them back again. When they were gone, it was just another sign that his life was no longer what it used to be. Even though they made him feel awkward and tired, they were still his family and he was glad he could see them again.

Slowly, Morty tried to acclimate to the new dynamics of the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Morty, have you seen my makeup bag?” Summer called from her room. Morty got up from his bed and trudged to the door.

“No, w-why would I know that?” he shouted from the doorway.

“I dunno, you’re always in here going through my fucking stuff,” she grumbled. Morty heard her rifle through her drawers and he shifted his eyes to the bathroom.

“Here you go,” Morty said, tossing the bag onto Summer’s bed. She whirled around from her desk, almost knocking over the mirror that sat on top of it.

“Where was it?” she huffed, grabbing the bag. Morty watched her pull out the tubes she needed.

“Found it in the bathroom.”

“Thanks bro,” she said. She threw the bag onto her desk and plopped down in front of the mirror, unscrewing a pink tube of mascara.

“S-sure.”

Morty wandered into the hall and looked around, a little at a loss for what he should do. It was only 9 in the morning, and he still had the whole day ahead of him. He turned around and stared into his room from the hallway. He was tired of staying in there day in, day out.

Suddenly, someone grabbed Morty’s face from behind and he panicked. Acting on pure instinct, he spun around and slammed his fist into whoever was there.

_Rick. Rick found me. He’s here._

“Ouch, what the fuck, Morty!” Summer yelled. She wrapped an arm around her stomach and backed away.

“S-summer? What are you—?” Morty stared at her, finally realizing that he wasn’t in danger, after all. He shrank back until he hit the opposite wall.

“It was just makeup, jeez,” she complained, straightening up and dusting her hands against each other. Morty saw pink powder on her hands and reached up to touch his face. His fingers came away covered in the same powder.

“Oh—oh jeez, I’m sorry Summer, I just freaked out, I—are you ok?” he asked, a hot, shameful blush rushing to his face. It had only been a couple of weeks since his family came back, and he was already falling apart. He couldn’t even act normal around them.

“Yea, Morty, don’t worry about it,” she said, wiping her hands on her pants. “You don’t even hit that hard, that barely hurt,” she added before walking away, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Morty watched her go and felt terrible inside. He knew Summer wasn’t mad at him, but he was mad at himself. How had he lost control so easily?

Was he doomed to live like that forever? He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in fear, panicking and attacking every time someone surprised him. That wasn’t any way to live.

He remembered running away from the house so many weeks ago. The fear he felt in that moment had been palpable. He hated feeling that way, but what could he do about it? Rick was out there somewhere, looking for him. Morty wondered what he was doing, if he was mad, if he missed him at all. What if he’d already gotten a replacement Morty?

Rick was going to kill him when he found him. Morty knew he wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of that. It was only a matter of time.

“Morty.”

Rick would find him and he would kill him and Morty was powerless to stop him.

“ _Morty.”_

_Rick is so mad he’s so mad he’s gonna kill—_

“Morty!”

Breaking out of his thoughts with a start, Morty looked up and realized Rick had been calling his name.

“Y-yea?” he breathed, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. His heart beat against his ribs and that traitorous blush gave away his thoughts.

The look of concern on Rick’s face made him feel small. He wished Rick would stop looking at him that way. It made him feel broken.

Rick looked at Morty thoughtfully for another minute before fishing through his pockets and taking out the portal gun. He punched in some coordinates and opened a portal in the middle of the hallway.

“Come on,” he beckoned, stepping through the portal. Morty watched the green film swallow Rick up and bounce back, rippling slightly.

He paused to catch his breath for a moment and then followed behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! sorry for the late update, I'm looking for a job on campus and an apartment closer to school so that's been taking up some time
> 
> I think at this point there are about 2 chapters left of this story


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts.

Morty stepped through the portal and almost gasped in awe at the place before him. They stood on the edge of a vast cliff, fine purple sands shifting beneath their feet. Over the edge, a dark blue ocean battered the rocks, roaring and crashing like a wild animal. The sun had set and bright orange stars glittered in the sky.

“Where are we?” Morty wondered breathlessly.

“Fernvaneh. It’s a totally deserted planet. I come here sometimes when I don’t—when I wanna be alone.”

Morty sat down on the sand and scooped a handful of it into his palm. It sifted through his fingers like liquid silk.

Rick took a seat next to Morty and looked down at the open sea.

“I brought you here because I want you to tell me what happened, and I figured you’d want some space from the others.”

Morty froze, one hand still buried in the sand. He thought this was an adventure, he didn’t think Rick portaled him here to extract information from him.

“Rick, w-wait. I don’t want to talk—”

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but I need to know a few things. Just a couple things, okay? You don’t have to tell me everything. Alright?”

After a pause, Morty nodded miserably. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, anyway.

“Who were you with?”

Morty stared at the glittering purple sand and wished he could bury his head in it. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to feel the way his heart twisted in pain when he thought about it.

“Rick 929-Z.”

“929-Z? But that wasn’t where I found you. What were you doing on Coya-4?” 

Coya-4. That must have been the Grand Canyon planet. Morty shrugged. “That was where he lived.”

“That planet is completely uninhabitable. How did you survive there?” Rick pressed. Out of the corner of his eye, Morty could see Rick staring at him, waiting for a response, and it made him uncomfortable. He shifted under the gaze, pulling his legs up to his chest and hunching down over them. He wished Rick would stop asking so much. They were edging dangerously close to territory Morty really didn’t want to talk about.

“I-I dunno, he had some kind of bubble…it was sunny inside, a-and there was a forest…” he trailed off, hoping that would be enough. He saw Rick nod and turn back to face the water. Morty sagged slightly in relief. Maybe that was all he wanted to know.

“Morty…what did he do?”

He was expecting it, but the question still hit him like a bag of bricks. It echoed in his ears and Morty clenched his fists in frustration.  

_What did he do?_

Morty screwed his eyes shut and pushed his forehead into his hands, grinding his palms against his eyes until he saw stars.

_What_ did _he do?_ There were so many things to name.

“He-he brought me ice cream. And a T.V.,” Morty said in a small voice.

“Morty.”

“And he took me to the Citadel, a-a-and other places, and h-he brought me food, and he—he—”

“Morty, it—it’s ok.”

He finally turned to face Rick but couldn’t meet his eyes. Rick wiped a hand across Morty’s face and only then did Morty realize he’d been crying.

“Rick, I—I think I miss him, I think maybe I—”

Rick covered Morty’s mouth with a warning hand. “No Morty, don’t say it. You don’t mean that. You may think you do, but I promise you baby, that’s just how he wanted you to feel. It isn’t real. You’ll see that with time.”

He wasn’t sure he would. He wasn’t sure he loved 929-Z, but…it was hard to figure out exactly how he felt, to say the least. He felt like he’d been using that excuse a lot recently, but it was the truth.

He didn’t know how to even begin processing his emotions, and now, unraveled by Rick on this strange ghost planet, he was afraid he’d never be able to bury them again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night in his room, protected under cover of darkness, Morty cried. He cried because he didn’t know what to do. He cried because he missed how things used to be, before his whole life had changed. He cried because he felt lost at sea, adrift with nothing to hold on. His old life felt further and further away with each wave that crested over his head. He didn’t know what he was headed towards, and he didn’t know if he’d be okay. He was empty and too-full, all at once. Inside of his heart, a war raged, and he didn’t know how to stop it. Half of him told him he should just disappear, that he was too much of a burden on his family. That half reminded him over and over that he could never be the son he used to be, that he was too broken to be fixed. The other half promised him that he was still loved, that leaving would be a mistake.

Where could he even go, if he decided to leave? The only other place he knew was Coya-4, and he wasn’t sure he could go back there.

His breath hitched in his throat and he bit down on his tongue to hide the sob bubbling in his chest. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to feel this way. But what was the alternative? He knew he’d never be the same. He knew a part of him would never stop hurting.

But there was more than one day to disappear, wasn’t there?

Morty thought of Rick’s lab, of all the possibilities there. How many times had Rick told him to be careful around something-or-other? How many devices in the lab could stop his pain? He knew how some of them worked, knew how painless disappearing could be.

Morty sat up in the bed wiped his face with his hands. He could do that. That was something he could do. He knew he wasn’t the smartest person, but he knew enough to be able to do _that_. Years of being Rick’s apprentice had taught him some things, after all.

If he was really going to do that, there were a few things he had to set in order first.

Morty flicked on his bedside lamp and dug through his drawer for a notebook and pen. In the dim ring of light, he began writing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, it was almost time. He finally felt satisfied with the way his letters sounded. They were something he’d wanted to take his time with. He didn’t want to rush them. After all, they’d be the only things left of him. They had to be perfect.

Morty decided he didn’t want to do it at home. It wasn’t fair to make his family clean up his mess. He’d go somewhere he wouldn’t be found.

He sat at his desk and adjusted his pencil holder an inch to the left, so that it sat near the edge. He gathered the papers in front of him and pushed them into a neat pile. On top of the stack, he placed three envelopes, each specifically addressed. One for his parents, one for Summer, one for Rick. With a nod to himself, he sat back in the chair and waited. He knew his parents were going out that night. He knew they were dragging Summer with them. He knew Rick would leave him alone.

His eyes trailed to the topmost drawer of his desk, where the plasma gun he’d taken from the lab yesterday was stashed. He passed his hands over the drawer, the cool wood a gentle reminder of the promise inside it.

The sun began to set, and it was almost time. He needed everything to be perfect now.

When he heard his parents getting ready to leave, Morty went downstairs to see them off.

“Honey, there you are,” his mom said. “Could you give me my wallet please? I left it on the counter and I’ve already got my shoes on.”

“Sure thing,” Morty said, faking a smile and grabbing the wallet. He didn’t want his parents’ last memory of him to be glum and serious. Beth’s hand brushed Morty’s when he passed off the wallet to her and he tried not to think about the fact that this would be the last time he felt his mother’s touch. “Have fun, Dad. D-don’t let Mom drink too much,” he joked, although it felt more forced than natural. He knew his parents wouldn’t notice how strained his smile was, how tight his eyes, and that was okay. He was doing this for them. It was all for them.

“Hey Morty, are you sure you don’t wanna come with us?” Summer asked. She looked uneasy.

“Y-yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “See you later, sis.”

“See you,” she said slowly, before following their parents out to the car.

Morty closed the door and leaned against it heavily. So, that was it then. It was time.

He walked back upstairs to his room and opened the topmost drawer. Morty only hesitated for a second before stuffing it under his waistband to hide it. He brushed his hand over the pyramid Rick had given him and exhaled heavily. With a final adjustment of the envelopes on his desk, he was ready to leave.

One hand on the doorknob, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He looked troubled, on edge. Before he could stop himself, he crept closer to his reflection. He swept his eyes over himself with a kind of final desperation, a last breath before everything goes black.

Morty lay two fingers over his pulse and listened to his heart thrum beneath them. He was so alive, in that moment. It was so strange to imagine that soon his body wouldn’t hum anymore, wouldn’t grow, wouldn’t change. In a few years, he’d be little more than a bittersweet memory. Summer would grow older without him, his parents would wonder he had to do it. Rick would get a replacement Morty, and things would go back to normal, finally. The blip of Morty’s life would smooth out, the pain would fade, and everyone around him would move on.

He flipped his wrists over and thumbed the rough scars that circled them. Some things would never go away. The hole in his chest, the emptiness, the loneliness, none of those would ever end, and he didn’t want to live a life of poisoned thoughts and plagued emotions. No, it was easier for everyone this way.

Morty ripped his eyes away from his reflection and peeked into the hallway to make sure Rick wasn’t nearby. When he heard the sounds of metal and tinkering coming from the lab, he knew it was time to go.

He slowly opened his window, willing it not to creak, and jumped out, landing on the roll of blankets he’d placed there that morning to cover the noise. The height was easier when he knew it was the last time he would deal with it.

Before he could change his mind, he shoved the blanket into the bushes to cover his tracks and made his way to the location he had picked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Between a cluster of restaurants a few blocks from Morty’s house, there was a patch of grass that was hidden from the street. That was the place he had in mind. It was quiet, isolated, and hard to find unless someone knew their way around the alleyways.

He sat down in the middle of the patch, took out the gun, and lay back flat so he could see the stars. His heart beat faster in his chest and his breaths came in quick, shallow gasps. It was like his body knew what was coming.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, blinking away the tears before they could blur his vision. Hands shaking, he pressed the barrel of the plasma gun to his temple and took in a deep, shuddering breath. He waited, tried to calm his racing heart.

_It’s not too late to stop. You can still walk away_ , a small voice in the back of his head urged. He was crying in earnest, now. Sobs wracked through his body and his hand slipped from his temple. The gun clattered when it hit the floor and Morty sat up, covering his face in his hands.

No. No, it _was_ too late. After everything he’d done, all his preparation, the letters, everything, he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back home like none of that had happened. He couldn’t keep acting like nothing had changed. It hadn’t been working for the last few months, and it wouldn’t start working now.

Morty grabbed the gun again and shoved it against his forehead, bowing his head over his knees and closing his eyes. It was now or never. There was no way back, and he knew it.

“Morty, what the fuck are you doing?” someone shouted. His eyes flew open and he saw Rick staring at him in shock. Before he could react, Rick whipped something out of his pocket and shot at him. A blast of wind blew through Morty’s hands, ripping the gun out of them. It crashed into a wall behind him and Morty stared at where it had fallen in surprise.

“Rick? W-what are you doing here?” he asked nervously, turning back to face Rick.

“What the fuck were you about to do, Morty?” Rick asked again. Morty had never seen him so angry. Rick towered over him, fury radiating off him in waves.

“How did you find me?” he tried again, voice catching in his throat. He shied away from Rick and made himself small.

“I needed your help with something. Imagine my surprise when I saw your room empty,” Rick hissed. “I saw the envelopes and the open window and put two and two together.”

Morty sighed. “Where’s the tracker, Rick? Where did you put it?”

“Fuck if I tell you. We’re going home, _now_.”

“No, Rick, tell me!” Morty suddenly shouted, scrambling to his feet. He was angry now. He had everything set up and ready, and Rick had to ruin all of it, his careful planning, his preparation, the whole thing. “Is it here?” He raked his nails down his arm, leaving behind red scratches. “Here?” he asked, doing the same to his other arm. “Leave me alone, Rick! Y-you have no idea, n-none, you don’t know the first th-thing—”

“Then tell me!” Rick said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Let me help you, you _idiot_ , don’t just keep it all bottled inside.” Rick ran a hand down his face and Morty paused. Was Rick _crying?_ “Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw that window open, Morty, do you even know? You can’t just—just pull shit like that, Morty!”

“I-I don’t know what to do.” Morty sat down, suddenly feeling drained and exhausted. “But I don’t want to keep doing this, Rick. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. I’ll be here with you, alright? The whole time. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t think that’s enough,” Morty said miserably, tears welling up in his eyes again. He faced Rick, who looked just as worried as he sounded. “I keep trying to hold on to this idea of how my life was before, and-and now it’s not like that anymore, and I don’t know what to do. What do I do, Rick?”

Rick held his gaze and grabbed Morty’s hands between his own. “You _keep going_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I'm sorry for the late update, I know I said a few days like a week ago but I have a reason!! So last sunday I started watching all the major marvel movies because I was sick of seeing infinity war meme spoilers on instagram. sooo i literally watched all 14 main movies over the course of a week and a half and y'all...i'm sooo emotionally destroyed you guys. and then i fell into the marvel fandom on ao3 so that made me lose some motivation to finish my own fic because I was still mourning all the crap that happened in the mcu ahhhhhh. anyway after crying for the whole week that i watched the movies and running through a whole box of tissues i decided to add this chapter. there are actually two chapters left after this, not one, because i wanted to add some extra things. soooo anyway, sorry for the long rant, my friends are all busy/don't watch the mcu so i have no one to fangirl with over captain america and all the avengers but yea. I hope you liked the chapter!!


	14. Chapter 14

Rick told Morty later that the reason he’d chosen that exact moment to go into his room and ask for his help was that he’d gotten a text from Summer. She’d demanded Rick to keep an eye on him throughout the night to make sure he was okay.

Morty wasn’t sure how to feel about that. A part of him was relieved that Summer had the hawk eyes that she did, but another part of him felt…violated by their worry. He didn’t want them to tread lightly around him, to treat him differently. He just wanted to be normal again, but it seemed that _normal_ wasn’t in the cards for him anymore. He’d muttered a thanks to Rick, and later to Summer, to get them off his back, even though he knew a simple ‘thank you’ wouldn’t fix anything. It just felt worse saying nothing at all.

Morty felt trapped in the worst way. A hollow space, right in the center of his heart, grew bigger and bigger each day he spent in his house, each day he spent alone and isolated. There wasn’t anything he could do about it but watch helplessly as it expanded through his heart, and then his chest, and then the rest of him, leaving behind a gaping black hole of misery and exhaustion. It was indescribably terrifying, knowing that he was rotting from the inside out, knowing that he couldn’t stop it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty shredded the letters under Rick’s watchful gaze, but he knew that that wouldn’t stop him, if he chose to try it again. And really, what was the point anymore? It had been months, and he still hadn’t fully acclimated to being back home. How much longer could it take? Could _he_ take? How much longer did he have to suffer, did he have to force himself into a shape that he couldn’t fit into anymore, before he finally admitted defeat?

 

He shredded the letters, but as soon as Rick left on one of his missions, Morty snuck back into the alley and retrieved the gun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time didn’t really mean anything to him, anymore. He was vaguely aware of the passing days, of the slow transition from summer to autumn, of cooling nights and shorter daytimes, but he didn’t care much about it. It held no meaning for him. He ate whatever was placed on his nightstand, and if there was nothing there, then he didn’t eat. Whatever small motivation he had left to leave his room died that day in the alley, and he spent his days on his bed, thinking of nothing and everything.

Some days, the lines between reality and memory blurred, and it was those days that left Morty with tears in his eyes and the ghost of Rick 929-Z’s touch across his skin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d never fit in again, not at home, not at school, not anywhere. The only place left for him in the whole universe was a house surrounded by illusions, a place no one else could ever find. Morty wondered if Rick 929-Z was still there, or if he’d moved on. Somehow Morty felt worse after imagining a new Morty in his place, the fear he must be going through, and the torture. He didn’t know what to make of his thoughts. He just wanted to be back where things made sense. Where he understood his role and his duties and could carry them out relatively successfully. Where he was safe, where he was cared for.

Here, in the house that used to be his, Morty had nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was four months later that Rick 929-Z finally found him.

Four months of living at home, trying to rebuild his life, when Rick portaled in to Morty’s bedroom.

Four months of nightmares and constant fear, of strange longing and homesickness he didn’t understand, when Morty lay eyes on that Rick and realized that even after all this time, he had never really escaped that room.

They stared at each other wordlessly, Morty with shock and awe and a million other thoughts he couldn’t process written plainly on his face, Rick with impassivity marred by swirling undercurrents of barely-contained fury.

“Did you think you could get away from me, you little asshole?” Rick hissed, his usual stutter disappearing in the face of his anger. “Do you have any idea what I went through when I came home and saw that you were gone?”

_Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw that window open?_

Morty shook his head. This Rick, the one standing in front of him, was the only one left who could take him now. He had to appeal to Rick’s kind side, the side he _knew_ was there. Now was his chance to finally disappear, the right way, the way he’d intended from the beginning. He’d stop being a burden on his family. It was the only path left for someone like him.

Rick stepped forward and backed Morty into the wall, bracing his arms against it and caging Morty in.

“Rick, please, take me away from here, I-I don’t want to be here anymore,” Morty whispered, gripping the wrists on either side of his head. “Please, t-take me back.”  

“You shouldn’t have run,” Rick said flatly, barely hiding the growl from his voice.

“I didn’t think I could be happy there, I didn’t think I could forget, but Rick, _please_ , I can’t survive here, I need—”

“Hey M-Morty, I’m gonna go get some parts for my car, d’you need anything?” Rick, _his_ Rick, called through the door.

929-Z ripped one arm from the wall and fished his laser gun out of his pocket, pressing the barrel of it into Morty’s neck and pulling his face close.

“Say no,” he ordered.

“N-no Rick, I’m g-good,” Morty stammered, his blood turning to ice. He didn’t know Rick was still at home. He desperately hoped Rick wouldn’t come up to his room because he had no doubt that 929-Z would shoot to kill, and Morty didn’t want his Rick’s blood on his hands.  And he especially didn’t want to see the look of betrayal on his Rick’s face when he saw what Morty was trying to do, where he was trying to go. Morty couldn’t deal with betraying Rick like that, not after everything Rick had tried to do to help. This was the only thing left. The only option. Morty didn’t want to die, not really. He just wanted to stop existing, and going with 929-Z was the best way to do that. He choked back a sob, hating himself so much, hating his weakness and the circumstances that led him here. He really was a useless fuck, not good for anything at all.

Morty heard the retreating footsteps and his heart shattered in his chest, with finality. He knew there was no turning back now. His parents were out and Summer was at a friend’s house. Once Rick was gone, Morty would be all alone with 929-Z. That was what he wanted, after all, but still he shivered.

929-Z pushed him back against the wall and Morty didn’t resist. He didn’t resist when Rick punched him, hard, over and over until his vision went blurry around the edges. He didn’t resist because he deserved it. He’d disappointed everyone around him, and he deserved this.

“This is for running away,” he hissed, grabbing Morty’s chin and turning his head so that he could look into Rick’s eyes. “You will _never_ do that again, understood?” Morty coughed wetly, swallowing the blood that trickled into his mouth, and he nodded.

“We’re going,” Rick spat, yanking Morty with one arm and shooting a portal in front of them with the other. Morty stumbled, unprepared, and he accidentally brushed the pyramid Rick had made for him off his desk. It crashed loudly against the floor, where the glass shattered into a hundred tiny rainbows of light. In the split second that followed, 929-Z met Morty’s eyes and stilled.

“What was that?” Rick called from downstairs. Morty’s head whipped around to the door. Rick was still here! He hadn’t left yet, _and he was coming._ Morty heard creaking floorboards as Rick ran up the stairs to his room.

“We have to go, _now!_ ” Morty screamed, pushing 929-Z desperately towards the portal. They had to get through. They had to leave before the portal closed and they were stuck here and 929-Z killed his Rick.

The door flew open and hit Morty hard in the side of his head. Slightly dazed, he stopped trying to push 929-Z and instead braced himself against the wall for support. Through half-lidded eyes, head pulsing with pain, he saw the look on his Rick’s face as Rick quickly took in the scene before him.

“Morty, get out and wait in the garage,” his Rick said in a dangerously calm voice.

“Rick, wait. Wait—I—”

“Get the fuck out of here, Morty!” his Rick yelled, whirling around to fix him with a glare that dared Morty to disobey.

Morty grabbed the edge of the desk to steady himself, barely aware of something sharp pricking his palms, and shook his head. He just needed Rick to _listen!_ He had to make him understand. This was the best-case scenario for everyone. Why couldn’t Rick see that? Forcing Morty to stay here, it was torture. Everyone suffered for it. Didn’t Rick know that Morty saw the way his presence strained the already-tenuous holds of his family? It was kinder to just let Morty _leave_. He wasn’t wanted at home, not really. Maybe his parents pretended they wanted him back, but what they really wanted was the old him back. They wanted things to go back to how they were. They didn’t want to deal with this broken, haunted shell of their son. They didn’t want to waste time fixing what was unfixable.

“Rick, y-you have to see—” Morty tried again, weakly.

“You should listen to him,” 929-Z sneered, pointing his laser gun at Rick. “He _wants_ to leave. He wants me, not you.”

“He doesn’t know what he wants,” Rick said evenly, his own stun gun held steady in front of him. “Morty, I won’t tell you again. Get the fuck out.”

“No, Rick, I—”

Without breaking eye contact with 929-Z, Rick pulled his portal gun out and shot it under Morty’s feet. Before Morty could register what happened, he found himself falling, falling, falling, before landing roughly on the concrete of the garage. He scrambled to his feet, desperate to get back to his room, but he knew even without trying that Rick would have locked the door.

How could something as small as a locked door keep him from leaving? All Morty wanted to do was disappear. All he wanted was for things to go back to normal, or close enough to normal, so that he could be…not happy, but…satisfied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morty sat in Rick’s work chair for a long time, waiting, worried. At first he heard the sound of fighting, but soon after that he didn’t hear anything at all. He was on the verge of panicking but tried to stay calm for Rick’s sake, in case he needed him. Morty couldn’t stop thinking about everything that could go wrong. What if 929-Z killed his Rick? What if Rick needed Morty’s help but couldn’t call out to him?

After a few more aching minutes of deliberating, Morty heard commotion outside. He pushed the garage door up an inch to peek outside and saw police-embossed spacecars parked in front of the house. Unable to hold his worry and curiosity back any longer, Morty sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom, calling desperately out for Rick. He needed to know that Rick was okay. He didn’t know what he’d do if he found out that Rick had gotten hurt trying to protect him.

Morty collided hard with Rick in the hallway. He fell backwards and looked up in confusion.

“Rick…? W-what are you?”

Rick looked down at him with a bored expression.

“You can’t go in there yet, kid.”

Only then did Morty realize this Rick was dressed differently, in some kind of guard outfit.

“Who are you?” Morty asked, still on the floor. He crawled backwards slowly, regretting not bringing something to defend himself with.

“Citadel Guard. We got a call to pick up a violent Rick from this location.”

“Call from who?”

The guard Rick took out a screen from his pocket and flipped through it. “From Rick C-124.”

“Where is he? C-124, where did he go?”

Rick shrugged. “Beats me. I’m just here to stand guard until they’re done with him in there,” he said, jabbing his thumb at Morty’s bedroom.

Morty edged forward cautiously and pressed his ear against the closed door, straining to hear what was happening inside. He heard a lot of grunting and what sounded like punching. Suddenly feeling nauseous, he inched away from the door and sat on his knees.

The guard Rick peered down at him. “You okay, kid? Y-you look like you’re gonna puke.”

“Y-yeah, f-fine,” Morty stammered.

“Morty, what are you doing here?” he heard to his left. He whipped his head around and saw his Rick coming out from the bathroom. “Why aren’t you in the garage?” He held out one hand to help Morty up and Morty grabbed it, pulling himself to his feet. He tried to ignore the way it made him shiver to touch Rick, and he looked down in embarrassment.

“I heard noises and I-I wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“You’re bleeding,” Rick said, holding out his own blood-stained palm. Morty flipped his hands over and realized he’d forgotten about the glass and the cuts, so focused he’d been on finding out what had happened.

“Come on, let’s fix you up.” Rick beckoned Morty back towards the garage and he followed behind, glad to get away from the commotion in the house.

“Sit down,” Rick said, pointing at the work chair. Morty sat, kicking his feet anxiously. It bothered him that he felt so on edge, but having Rick so close to him suddenly made him nervous.

Rick opened the nearest drawer and pulled out a first aid kit, kneeling by Morty’s legs on the floor and reaching for his hands. Morty held them palm up and hoped Rick didn’t notice the way they trembled. He wanted to stay calm, but every nerve felt like it was on fire. He watched Rick reach forward deliberately slowly and inspect the damage.

Morty was hyperaware of everything, how close Rick was, how carefully he worked to extract the embedded glass, how he murmured apologies every time Morty flinched back from the pain. Embarrassment and shame flushed through him again. What would Rick think of him now? After all the kindness, after all the patience, Morty still had tried to go back with 929-Z. How could Rick ever respect him now? Rick should just give up on him. He was fighting a lost cause. Morty would clearly never be normal again.

He sighed, but it came out like a strangled sob.

Rick looked up, opened his mouth to say something, apologize maybe, but someone pounded on the garage door from the outside. Rick pursed his lips, frowned, and turned to press a button that would raise the door.

Morty saw several guard Ricks getting into their spacecars, preparing to fly out. Morty subconsciously shied away from them.

The guard Rick who had knocked pointed at his car. “Target’s been neutralized. Looks like we’re done here.” Morty followed with his eyes and saw 929-Z tied up in the back of the car, knocked out.

He quickly looked away again, despair overshadowing any rational reaction there might have been. There went his last chance.

Rick nodded at the guard. “Thank you.”

The guard Rick raised his hand in a loose salute and climbed into the car, revving the engine before lifting off to join the other guards.

Rick finished wrapping Morty’s hands with medical tape. For a moment, Morty just sat there, not saying anything, staring at the neat rows of medical wrap on his hands.

“Why did you call the Citadel?” he finally asked. Rick packed up the kit and put it back in the drawer. Morty could see how tense he was, the muscles of his back taut like bowstrings.

“Because if I killed him myself, he’d get off too easy.”

“Rick,” Morty started, sudden exhaustion weighing him down. “I wanted to go. I-I didn’t mind that he found me.”

“Why are you so set on believing that no one wants you here?” Rick asked exasperatedly, pushing the drawer shut and turning around to face Morty.

“I—because it’s true, because I’m just wasting everyone’s time here.”

“I looked for you every day,” Rick said after a pause, locking eyes with Morty, who looked away. “Every day. I put up signs, looked for your brainwaves, reported you missing to the Citadel, I—I did everything I thought might work. For a long time, nothing did. Then…then I finally got a reading from you. Some isolated planet somewhere, not even habitable, and I thought—I wasn’t sure what I would find when I got there. But then I found you, and you were _alive_ , and…”

Rick trailed off and Morty raised his eyes again, looking at the utterly miserable expression on Rick’s face, at the way his hands fluttered uselessly by his sides, clenched and unclenched as if he could fix Morty somehow, with a wrench or a solder or a screwdriver. As if Morty was one of his broken inventions.

“I-I’m a mess, Rick,” Morty whispered, looking down at the floor. “You don’t want this. You should have just let me die.”

Before Rick could answer, Morty turned on his heel and walked out of the garage. He marched to his room, purposely ignoring all the signs of struggle around him, and reached under his mattress where he’d hidden the gun.

He came back to the garage, where Rick still stood helplessly by his work table. Before Rick could say anything, before the look of surprise at Morty’s return fully left his face, Morty threw the gun to his feet.

“You’d find this sooner or later,” Morty said in a low voice. “I don’t want it, anyway. I-I just want you to send me somewhere, Rick. Another country, another planet, I don’t care. You can track me, I don’t care about that either. I just want to get away from here. _Please_.”

He knew Rick knew he suffered in this house. He knew Rick could see the way Morty cracked, just a little more, every day. He’d be blind not to see that. Morty waited and waited, watching the conflicting emotions on Rick’s face, watching Rick decide what to do.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Rick nodded in defeat. “Okay.”


	15. Chapter 15

In the end, Rick agreed to send him to Sabra-K, a tiny planet not too far from Earth. As requested, it was uncolonized and habitable. The sun there was smaller than Earth’s, and the stars a little brighter, but it was similar enough to Earth that it didn’t feel alien to Morty, and just different enough that it didn’t remind him of home.

Rick set up a house for him near the beach, so that the crashing of the waves drowned out the silence. He stocked the fridge with food and told Morty he’d stop by monthly to fill it up again, as well as to check in on him. Morty had protested that at first, but conceded in the end. Maybe it would be good to have company sometimes. He didn’t want to isolate himself completely, after all.

The days blended together, one into the other, until his time there became a shapeless mass of hours and colors. Morty didn’t remember when one day ended and another began, and he didn’t care. He actively tried to ignore the time, because every time the sun sank behind the horizon and signaled the end of another day, the nightmares still plagued him, and some nights he still woke up confused, lifting his arms and expecting to see chains. He wasn’t sure his ghosts would ever leave him, and he hated those nights the most, when he couldn’t tell what was real and what was a dream. Those nights he’d stumble out of bed, muttering about locked doors and hunger pains, and he wouldn’t fully awaken until the sun came up and, along with it, the promise of a clean, new day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One day, he woke up and realized it had been two months since he moved there, and the fact did little to surprise him. He lay there in bed, listening to the uninterrupted crash of the waves against the store, and smiled. It was a little thing, a half-smile of pain and grief more than happiness, but it reassured him nonetheless, promised him that he could get better with time, because that was the first time in a long time that he hadn’t had a nightmare.

Morty’s days after that became simpler. He stopped trying to fill the hours with meaningless tasks that only served to drown out his thoughts. Rick had left him an interdimensional T.V. in the living room, but Morty rarely used it except as background noise for the bad nights. Most days, he woke up and made breakfast, packed something small for lunch, then headed out to the beach to read for a few hours until it got too dark. Then he came home, showered, did a few chores around the house, and  went to bed. It was a barren schedule, and so very different from how his life used to be, but it was a _normal_ routine, and normal was something he needed desperately.

The days Rick visited him always went the same. He’d pop in sometime in the morning, exchange a few words, and be on his way. He never stayed long, and Morty never asked for more time. They both knew Morty would call if he needed, so it was never a concern. And Rick could see the way Morty had improved since moving to Sabra-K, so he knew he could afford to be a little less watchful, a little less overbearing.

The distance from Earth did wonders for Morty’s cluttered brain. Without prying, judgmental eyes around him, Morty could finally begin moving forward with his life. He wrote a lot, even though it was hard at first, but he filled pages and pages with his memories from Cora-4, his memories of 929-Z, his feelings, thoughts, all of it. He lay himself bare on the paper, leaving nothing untouched. When he amassed a formidable pile, he lay back and stared at the stack in his hand. It contained everything from the past two years, and it felt cathartic in a way, to hold that part of him outside himself, to mark it something _other_.

Morty pushed back the chair and knelt in front of the crackling fireplace. No one was there to judge him, he reminded himself. No one except him knew about this, and he flushed with pleasure at the thought. This moment was his and his alone. No one else could tell him what to do with the pages or how to handle it better or _anything_. Morty threw the pile into the fireplace and watched the papers turn brown and curdle, turn to ash and disappear.

When he stood up to make dinner, he could have sworn he was lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days went on, and Morty finally reached a kind of shaky peace. He enjoyed the silence, that was true, but some days he found it kind of lonely. Some days, he sat perfectly still and listened to the house creak around him, to the waves whispering against the sand, to the trees rustling in the soft breeze, and he wished there was more. He craved the sounds of feet pattering against the floor, of voices carrying through the walls. The T.V. could only do so much to make him feel less alone.

It was one of those days that Morty took out his phone and stared at the home screen. Rick was always just a phone call away, he knew that, but working up the courage to call first was something he hadn’t had to do in a long time, and he felt a little shaken at having to do it now. But he reassured himself that it was a good thing, that the phone call was _for_ a good thing, and so he pressed the green button and waited for Rick answer.

“Morty, everything ok?” Rick asked immediately, picking up after the first ring.

“Everything’s fine, Rick,” he assured. Then he paused, not sure how to continue. How could be begin to explain everything he’d been feeling, everything that had led up to this moment?

“Did you want me to stop by?” Rick prodded. Morty could tell by the tone of his voice that he was worried, that he was trying to figure out why Morty had suddenly called. A few months ago, he would have found that to be suffocating. Now, he bit his lip to hide a small, grateful smile.

Morty thought over the words in his head, the words he wanted to say, the stories he wanted to explain, but he stopped himself. He didn’t have to pour out his feelings and leave himself empty every time, and he didn’t have to explain his rationale for coming to this decision. Rick didn’t demand that from him, so why did Morty demand it of himself? All Morty had to do was say the words, and Rick would come, no questions asked.

“No, I—I’d like to come home, if that’s ok,” he breathed. And that was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rick came two hours later to pick Morty up. The ride back to the house was quiet, but not uncomfortable. For the first time in a long time, Morty’s head felt clearer, like it wasn’t stuffed full of cotton. He didn’t delude himself that he was cured; he knew the ghosts would always be there in the background, but he also knew they wouldn’t overwhelm him anymore. Yes, he still had nightmares sometimes, and yes, some things still set him off, but he was so much better than he was before.

The house almost seemed to welcome him, bright green lawn and paned windows inviting him forward. His heart ached when he saw Summer sitting on the front steps, waiting for them. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed her until just then, seeing her cross-legged on the concrete, waving up at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t as hard as Morty thought it would be, settling back into the rhythm of the house the second time around. His parents seemed more relieved than anything to have a _normal_ son again, and Morty didn’t do anything that would shatter their image of him. He figured they needed it as much as he did. And he thought that maybe he could be the person everyone wanted him to be, if he just acted the role long enough.

Morty lay in bed that night, relishing the feel of the blankets against his skin. The bed he had on Sabra-K wasn’t that different from this, but it still felt good to be back in his own room, a feeling he never thought he’d have again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After moving back, days become weeks became months, and one day Morty woke up and realized he didn’t miss 929-Z anymore. Distance had given him clarity, and he realized just how far he’d fallen. It wasn’t healthy, the thoughts he’d had during those first months of being back home. He knew he wasn’t magically fixed now, but there was something he needed to do if he wanted to keep moving forward.

“Rick,” he said a few days later, visiting Rick in the garage.

Rick looked up, solder gun still in hand, and blinked a few times before focusing in on Morty.

“I want to see him.”

“Morty, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rick argued immediately, setting the gun down.

“Not-not for the reason you think, Rick, I swear,” Morty said quickly, trying to assuage Rick’s concerns. “I just need closure.”

“There are other ways, this isn’t—”

“I know Rick, I _know_. Just…please. I’ve gotten better, you’ve _seen_ that, but I need this. Just this, Rick, please.”

Morty could see the exact moment he convinced him. Rick sighed and untied the lab apron around his waist.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The prison was just as Morty imagined it: big, intimidating, and dirty. The guard at the visitor’s gate was a huge, purple alien with spikes curving cruelly over its back and arms and Morty reflexively shied away. It had been a long time since he’d dealt with aliens like that, and he felt the familiar anxiety creeping up inside his throat, hot and choking, the same anxiety he had felt when 929-Z had taken him to the Citadel for the first time.

“Okay?” Rick murmured to him, pressing a hand into his shoulder. Morty nodded, exhaling sharply. “We can still go back if you want.”

Morty shook his head. He had come to the prison for one thing, and he wouldn’t leave until he’d done it. He couldn’t let 929-Z rule his life forever. If he could do that, just that one thing, he’d prove to everyone, but especially himself, that he could still be Morty Smith of dimension C-124 again, that he wasn’t a stranger or an imposter just pretending to be him.

He watched Rick speak to the alien, tell him which cell they wanted to visit, and he steeled himself. The guard nodded once and beckoned forward another, smaller alien to guide them through the prison.

Morty followed Rick into the prison, keeping his eyes down. He didn’t want to see the rows and rows of cells suspended over his head. He didn’t want to see the prisoners leer and shout and motion at him, didn’t want to see their lewd faces or hear their crass words. He kept his eyes on the dirty, concrete floor until their guide stopped them with a raised palm. Morty looked up then, and saw the alien point at the cell in front of it, speaking to Rick in a language Morty didn’t understand. Then, the alien stepped to the right of the cell where it could keep an eye on all of them without being in the way.

“This is it, then,” Rick said, motioning towards the cell. “You ready?”

Morty took a deep breath, let it go, took another one, let that one go too, and nodded. Rick nodded in return and went to stand beside the alien. Morty was grateful for that. He knew he’d feel caged in if Rick stood on the other side, and that would just add to his already mounting anxiety.

He stepped in front of the glass, staring hard at the floor of the cell, and clenched his fists. He was so close. He just had to do this one thing, and then he could leave. Just this one thing.

Morty lifted his eyes.

929-Z lay on the bed, his back to the glass. He could have been sleeping, or he could have been dead, but either way, he didn’t know yet that he had visitors. Morty looked helplessly at Rick who said something to the alien. The alien stepped closer to the glass where Morty saw a control panel mounted into the wall. It punched a code into the panel and then a shrill alarm rang buzzed through the cell.

929-Z woke up with a start, rolling over and almost off the bed.

“What the fuck was that?” he shouted, eyes flying to the glass where he saw the alien. Morty flinched, hating himself for it even as he did it, and saw 929-Z’s eyes flit over to him. Morty waited for the recognition to slowly dawn on 929-Z’s face.

“Morty,” he breathed.

He looked so small in that cell, so small and thin and insignificant. _Powerless_. Morty crept closer to the glass, pressing his palm against it. He supposed this was how he had looked to 929-Z, too, back on Cora-4. Morty took in the bags under his eyes, the tangled mess of hair, the stained jumpsuit. He looked at the bruises littering 929-Z’s arms and the dust from the cell on his skin and he felt a sick wrench of pleasure in his stomach. In that cell, 929-Z was nothing. _No one_. He had taken everything from Morty, had been an ever-present force in his life for the last two years, but now…now he was the prisoner, and the roles were reversed, and he couldn’t take Morty’s freedom anymore.

“I came to see you,” Morty whispered, his voice cracking. 929-Z jumped up from the bed and knelt down in front of the glass so that they were level, his piercing eyes on Morty’s face. Morty shifted uncomfortably but didn’t look down. He reminded himself that he had the upper hand now, that he didn’t have to keep letting 929-Z control his life.

“You…took so much,” Morty started, hand clenching into a fist on the glass. “And you don’t even care. But you-you can’t take it anymore. I won’t let you. And now that you’re in here, you can’t take from anyone else, either. You’re a terrible, _horrible_ monster, and you deserve to be here.” His voice grew steadier the longer he talked, and he could almost be proud of himself for doing this, for telling 929-Z the things he should have said months ago. “So, I came to see you, to tell you, and to say goodbye.”

929-Z opened his mouth to say something, but the alien entered another code and Morty couldn’t hear him anymore, the words bouncing back into the cell instead of going through. On his way out, Morty looked at 929-Z one more time, at the way he punched the glass, demanding attention like a child, at the way he silently screamed.

Morty did not look back again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, then!! This is the first multichaptered story that I've ever actually finished so even though 41k is barely anything, I'm still happy I was able to get through it. I hope that in the future I can write longer stories and improve my writing, but until then I'm glad I was able to do this one. 
> 
> To everyone who stuck around with me while I took forever to update, to all those who bookmarked and kudosed and left amazingly sweet comments, thank you so so so much. Your words always, always made my day and I loved hearing from all of you! Your comments were such good motivators, especially on the days I didn't feel like writing because I thought no one cared. Thank you for being so patient and nice, you guys are seriously the best! I cannot say enough good things about all of you!!!! <3


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